Under Siege
by Dens Serpentis
Summary: 7th year fic. Hogwarts is the safest place in the Wizarding World. What happens when its teachers are struck down and it's separated from the rest of the world, leaving the students to fend for themselves? No slash, pairings undecided. No HBP or DH.
1. Chapter 1

Note: I know that I shouldn't be starting another story whilst in the middle of writing Harry Potter and the Chance for a New Life, but this plot bunny's been picking on me for quite a while. Updates for this fic will be less frequent but longer than those for HP and the CFaNL.

I'm taking votes on whether this should be a H/Hr pairing, H/G, or something else. I'm leaning toward Harry/Hermione, but I can be convinced otherwise.

It would seem that I have a thing for writing seventh year Harry Potter fics without writing sixth year fics. I suppose the reason why is because I feel like Harry's shown as a bit of an idiot in the books up through book 5, so I think of year 6 as being his chance to do all the studying, etc. that he neglected to do the years before. Therefore, if you really want to read my version of year 6, here it is:

"Harry studied. A lot. So did Hermione. She got better grades than he did, but that's because he was studying to save the world and she was studying to get good grades. Both of them got better grades than Ron. Ron played a lot of chess and Quidditch. Harry did not. Snape hated Harry. He was an awful git and terribly unfair to him. Dumbledore twinkled. The wizarding world behaved as if under a shadow as Voldemort continued causing mayhem and terror. Harry fought Voldemort and barely escaped with his life."

Voila! Now on to the actual story...

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

Chapter 1: In Which the Characters and the Setting are Introduced 

Harry Potter was not Head Boy. He had been denied that position in his fifth year when his Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, had mistakenly thought that the responsibility of prefect would be too much a burden for him to handle, considering he was already expected to save the world. Without having been a prefect, and without amazing grades, it was impossible for even the Boy-Who-Lived to attain the lofty position of Head Boy.

Ernie Macmillan was Head Boy. He was pompous and most students didn't much like him, but he was a good person at heart.

Harry Potter was not a Quidditch Captain. He had been banned from Quidditch for life in his fifth year by the psychotic Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher Dolores Umbrige.

Draco Malfoy was a Quidditch Captain. He had won the Quidditch Cup once already and was expected to do so again this year, and if most of the players on the opposing team ended up in the Hospital Wing under suspicious circumstances in the week before each and every match, well, they ought to be more careful.

Harry Potter was not the best student at Hogwarts. Being able to kill a man twenty ways (and counting) with a wand and two without had not helped his Charms grade much.

Hermione Granger was the best student at Hogwarts. This had been the case for six years and a week now. Some people thought she had a photographic memory, but the truth was that she took energy potions every morning to make up for the sleep she lost by reading all night every night.

Harry Potter was not much of a dancer. The grace he had painstakingly taught himself in martial arts never seemed to apply to the dance floor. Or maybe he was just so awkward when around those members of the fairer sex that he tripped over his own feet.

Terry Boot was an impressive dancer. One wouldn't expect it, since it was well-known that most Ravenclaws had their heads in books all day long, but he was just proof that one doesn't have to be able to see more than two feet in front of one's face to dance properly.

Harry Potter had not yet killed another human being. He considered this a pity, because everyone was expecting him to do so, and he hated to let people down. On the other hand, most people only liked him because they thought that he had saved the world and would do it again, so maybe defeating Voldemort wouldn't be such a good thing, since they would probably forget about him afterwards. Harry Potter had not yet died, either. In general, he thought that this was a good thing, since he still had several things he hoped to do before departing from the world, such as graduating from Hogwarts, defeating Voldemort, and finding a Hulga the Unwise Chocolate Frog card.

Hannah Abbott had killed someone called by some a human being, but thought of by others as only slightly more mentally developed than the _homo habilis_. It had been a great scandal when she had been found in the Potions classroom with Gregory Goyle dead at her feet, a look of stupid surprise on his face and the Dark Mark on his left forearm clearly exposed. She had not been punished, but she had never been quite the same afterwards.

Harry Potter was not a good chess player. He could strategize with better-than-amateur skill a battle in which thousands of lives were on the line (or so he believed, having read numerous books about historic battles), but he had little patience for strategizing how to make his semi-animate pieces destroy his best friend's semi-animate pieces with the ultimate goal of killing his best friend's semi-animate king.

Ronald Weasley was an amazing chess player. He had been playing chess since he was a wee lad, and, since it was the only thing that he actually excelled in, he made sure to play at least two hours every day. He hadn't actually improved since he was eleven years old, however, as he had yet to find anyone who was decent enough competition to challenge him to do better.

Harry Potter was not considered by most teachers to be a good role model for younger students. He got into entirely too much trouble, and in his younger years had often been found associating with those terrible troublemakers, the Weasley twins. He was also expected to die at a very young age, and losing someone important to one when one is just a child can be a traumatizingly harsh blow to one's psyche, one which most teachers would rather not subject their eleven- and twelve- and thirteen-year-old students to.

Padma Patil was considered a good role model for younger students. She had never had detention, she got excellent grades (not nearly as excellent as Hermione Granger's, but then, whose were?), and she was beautiful. Most importantly of all, she had never had her life threatened, and never took the foolish risk of placing her own life in danger for the sake of others'.

On the other hand, Harry Potter _was_ the leader of the DA, a secret defense organization of students from all seven years and the three not-evil Houses of Hogwarts. He was a parselmouth, but refused to speak to snakes except in life-or-death situations because he was afraid of becoming like Voldemort. He was also a wizard with hidden talents, most of which were known only to him. He was prophesized to either save the world or die trying, but most people didn't know that, either.

Everyone knew for a fact, though, that there was a lot that they didn't know when it came to Harry Potter. The history books would later postulate that this knowledge of their own ignorance may have been what caused many of Hogwart's inhabitants to turn to him as a leader when the great catastrophe of 1997 struck.

According to such notable scholars, it may have been for the aforementioned reason that Harry Potter was looked to for guidance when Albus Dumbledore suddenly keeled over halfway through dinner a week into the school year, immediately followed by the similar collapse of Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape, Filius Flitwick, Rolanda Hooch, Ardelia Sinistra, Pomona Sprout, and Theresa Vector. Only Nymphadora Tonks, the DADA teacher (who had spilled her poisoned pumpkin soup onto Snape's lap at the very beginning of the meal), Rubeus Hagrid, the Care of Magical Creatures professor (who was so large and whose digestive system so slow that it would take an entire pot of poisoned pumpkin juice to put him out of commission), and Sybill Trelawney, the Divination teacher (who had happily drunk her entire bowl of pumpkin soup without showing ill effects, since no one would bother poisoning her anyway) were left conscious at the Head Table.

In reality, Harry Potter's leadership at that very moment had very little to do with his history of being a good leader and remarkably lucky wizard or the fact that everybody knew he had hidden depths, and very much to do with the simple fact that he could keep his head in a crisis.

Indeed, the real reason for his ascension to the top of the Hogwarts hierarchy was probably because when everybody (including but not limited to the three conscious professors) simultaneously began screaming in surprise and fear, faces contorted in terror at the sudden, inexplicable collapse of the most powerful wizard in the world and every responsible adult, Harry Potter alone stood tall, his emerald green eyes glinting, handsome face set in determined lines that belied his own horror at what was happening, cast _sonorus_ on himself, and yelled, "Everybody be quiet!"

Furthermore, after everybody shut up, shocked at having been yelled at in this time of great disaster, Harry Potter, followed by the inhabitants of Hogwarts, stormed through the doors of the Great Hall, down the Entrance Hall, threw open the front doors, and found, to no surprise of his at all, that Voldemort and his entire force of Death Eaters was approximately thirty meters away and still closing.

Twenty five meters.

The spectators watched in very real rear as Harry spread his arms wide and shouted, "I, Harry James Potter, request of thee, Hogwarts Castle, control of thine wards, for the purpose of the protection of our students and the defeat of true evil!"

For a moment, it looked as though nothing would happen.

Twenty meters.

In the next instant, everyone gaped in dismay as Harry fell, writhing, to the ground, face contorted in agony. The torches lining the Main Hall flickered and almost went out. Abruptly, he stopped seizing, and the torches returned to their normal brightness - and then they began to burn even brighter and more steadily than they had been before.

Gasping and trembling, Harry painfully pushed himself to his feet, looking Voldemort (fifteen meters away, and aiming his wand) steadily in the eyes for the briefest of moments, then closed his eyes and begun rapidly muttering under his breath.

In most cases, this would not be an action which would inspire great confidence. Typically, when one turns to prayer in a time of danger, it means that the end is nigh. However, in this case, it was eminently encouraging for the entire populace of Hogwarts. Sometime during his prayer a great many loud creaking and rumbling noises could be heard throughout the castle, and the ground began to shake violently. A number of smaller students fell down, unable to keep their feet in the sudden tremors of the earth.

Voldemort's red eyes widened in angered realization, and he began mouthing the words of the killing curse, his wand pointed directly at Harry, who still had his eyes closed and was spellcasting with a flagrant disregard for his life.

The bright green spell left the Dark Wizard's wand, heading unerringly toward the powerful young wizard.

Ginny Weasley screamed, "Harry!" Harry didn't move, didn't react to her warning at all, except that his chanting might have oh-so-slightly increased in tempo.

The spell was about ten centimeters from the doorway, thirty centimeters from Harry's scarred forehead and unkempt hair, when, to everyone's great surprise, the doors suddenly slammed shut, pushed by an invisible force, and a large beam of wood fell to bar the main doors, a blockade not only of wood, but of magic as old as the school itself. The only sound made by the spell hitting the door was a muffled _thump_.

The shaking ceased.

Harry stopped chanting and opened his eyes. "Thank Merlin," he whispered. He reached out a tentative hand to feel the door, as if fearing that it wasn't truly there. He turned slowly, still trembling slightly, and looked at the mass of dazed and awed students and teachers. "Someone fetch Madam Pomfrey," he croaked. "She is needed in the Great Hall." Rooted to the ground in incomprehension as they were, no one moved. "Now!" he barked.

Five students dashed away to obey.

The rest followed Harry as he laboriously walked back to the Great Hall, seeming to regain his strength and speed with every step that he took. By the time he passed through the doors to the Hall, he was running. He came to a stop next to Dumbledore, dropping his knees next to the old wizard and frantically searching for a pulse. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found one, but his reassurance was short-lived. Despite the fact that he was still alive, Dumbledore was very pale, and his breathing so slight as to be almost non-existent. His skin was a strange pasty white, almost green in places. His eyes were open but unseeing, the blue orbs lacking the twinkle that was their trademark. His half-moon glasses had fallen from his face, and one of the lenses was cracked jaggedly down the middle, ironically in the shape of a lightning bolt.

Harry barely noticed that a number of other students had finally regained their wits and were also inspecting the fallen teachers.

The sound of hurried footsteps announced the arrival of Poppy Pomfrey. She fell to her knees besides Harry, gasping, "What do we have, Potter?"

"He's breathing faintly," Harry reported with all the alacrity of a professional healer. His secret medical classes with the nurse last year had paid off. "Skin is clammy, pupils dilated, pulse erratic."

She ran her wand over the old wizard, muttering diagnostic spells under her breath. She paused for a moment to turn to Harry and say, "Check on the others. There's nothing for you to do here right now."

Harry nodded curtly, turning to examine McGonagall, who had fallen close to Dumbledore. He was both surprised and pleased to find that her symptoms were quite different from the older wizard's. She was breathing slowly but steadily, and her pulse was beating a strong, reassuring tattoo against his inquiring fingers. Her skin was flushed red, as if from a slight fever, but there seemed to be no immediate danger to her life. He moved beyond her to check the others, and found that they exhibited the same symptoms.

"Comas," Hermione whispered. She looked up from her position resting on her heels next to Vector, her troubled brown eyes meeting Harry's as she voiced what he had been thinking. "They're all in comas."

"Not Dumbledore," Madam Pomfrey barked. "Harry, I need you."

Harry rushed to her side, pushing Ernie Macmillan out of the way. "What can I do?" he asked earnestly.

The mediwitch's lips were pursed as she shook her head. "We're going to have to put him into a stasis," she said. "The poison in his system is working quickly, so we don't have much time. You know the spell?"

"Yes," he said. "Do you want to be the primary caster, or shall I?"

"You," she ordered. "This is no time for modesty; you're much stronger than I am." She pushed a strand of grey hair behind one ear.

He inclined his head in agreement. Then, he turned so that he was kneeling directly next to the old wizard. Dumbledore had begun to gasp as his lungs threatened to give out. Quickly, Harry held his hands over his Headmaster's chest, muttering in complicated Latin. Pomfrey took a mirroring position, channeling her own magic into the spell.

"How does he know that spell?" Hermione murmured, careful to keep her voice down so that she did not disturb the spellcasters. "That's very advanced magic."

"Sh!" Malfoy hissed at her. He was watching avidly, a look of sincere interest and concern on his face for one of the first times in his life.

She glared at him, but didn't comment, sensing that he had rebuked her not out of malice, but out of genuine worry that she might disturb the spell or its casters.

The gathered students watched silently as Harry continued. Beads of sweat had formed on his face, and his hands were shaking. Pomfrey, too, was trembling in exhaustion.

A single drop of sweat fell from Harry's forehead to Dumbledore's chest.

A golden glow began to cover the Headmaster, beginning at his feet and slowly working its way up his body as Harry continued to chant.

Time seemed to pass agonizingly slowly as the entire student body watched with bated breath, wondering whether these were to be the last moments in their Headmaster's life.

Three minutes later, it was done. The glow covered his entire body, from head to toe. Dumbledore's mouth was still open mid-breath, and though he still looked terrible, and though he was still dying, he was in no immediate danger. A bit of spittle that had dribbled from his mouth glistened on his beard. The stasis spell had worked perfectly: Albus Dumbledore was now frozen in time.

Harry collapsed to the floor, panting as if he had just run a race.

Pomfrey sat back, exhausted, allowing herself respite for a short moment before she slowly turned to McGonagall. Once again, she ran her diagnostic spells, the furrows in her brow becoming more and more pronounced with each result. She broke away and turned to Hermione. "You say that the others are all like this?"

"Yes," the bushy-haired Head Girl replied.

"Then there's nothing we can do for them here. They've been given the _somnus aeternus_ potion. They'll need to be sent to St. Mungo's for help."

"They're not going anywhere," Harry said hoarsely. He coughed a bit.

"Excuse me, Mr. Potter?" Pomfrey asked, affronted at being challenged on her specialty.

"They're not going anywhere," he repeated. "They can't."

"And why not?" she demanded.

"The school has been locked down, Madam," Harry informed her. "It's a total lockdown. Not even the floos are operating."

She gaped. "But why?"

"Because what we feared would come to pass, has," he said. "Dumbledore and I discussed the possibility of needing this spell, and although I regret that I was forced to perform it, there was nothing else I could do."

"A lockdown," she said heavily. "This must be the first since..."

"It's the first in over five hundred years," Hermione said authoritatively.

"Can you not treat the professors in the Hospital Wing?" Harry asked. "Will they...die...if they can't go to St. Mungos?"

"No," Pomfrey replied. "They won't die if they don't go to St. Mungos, but they won't wake up here, either. The antidote to the _somnus aeternus_ potion is one that can only be brewed by a Potions Master, and which requires ingredients so rare that I doubt we have any here. Even if we did have the appropriate ingredients, our only Potions Master is currently under the effect of the potion." She jerked her head toward Professor Snape, whose comatose body was at this point surrounded by concerned Slytherins.

"Let's get the teachers to the Hospital Wing, then," Harry decided, seeing that no one else was about to take control of the situation. "Two students to levitate each teacher; the rest of you stay here for now and don't panic. We'll figure everything out when we're all back here."

Harry and Pomfrey wordlessly claimed Dumbledore as theirs to carry, while Draco Malfoy and Hermione reluctantly cooperated to bring Snape. More students paired off for the other teachers, with Tonks and Ron bringing McGonagall, and they marched to the Hospital Wing in a strange mockery of a parade.

As they walked, Harry asked Pomfrey under his breath, "What's wrong with Dumbledore?"

She shook her head. "It's a poison unlike any I've seen before. I believe that it was specifically designed to kill him, based on his age, his magical ability, perhaps even his height and weight. It's amazing that he was still alive when I got to him."

Harry blinked in realization. "I took the wards," he murmured. "I needed them to perform the lockdown, so I claimed them. That must have changed his magical levels..."

"You're right," she said thoughtfully. "If the poison was as carefully calibrated as I think, then such a change could have confused it." She paused. "If that's true, then you saved his life."

He smiled slightly, sadly. "He's not alive at the moment. We can talk about who saved whose life when everyone is back up and running."

"And how do you intend for that to happen?" she asked him.

"Me?" he asked. "I'm sure someone else will take over once we get back. People just need a little time to get their heads back on straight, that's all."

She smirked a bit, turning her face away so that he wouldn't see. "If you say so," she replied doubtfully.

He was spared a reply when they reached the Hospital Wing.

"Lay them each down on a bed," Pomfrey ordered, and the paired students complied. She wiped her hands briskly as she surveyed her patients, gaining a bit more confidence now that she was back in her domain. "Right, I'll take care of it from here. You lot go back to the Great Hall before they start a civil war."

Again, the students obeyed. Harry was the last out the door, and was just exiting when Pomfrey grabbed him by the sleeve. "You tell whoever they choose to be in charge down there that I'll need at least two assistants at all time to help me," she said. "The teachers will need quite a bit of taking care of just to make sure that they're in good shape whenever we manage to wake them up."

"All right," Harry agreed. With that, he took his leave.

When he arrived back at the Great Hall, he was disappointed but unsurprised to find that the students and teachers were milling about restlessly.

He clapped his hands once, using the magic of Hogwarts to amplify the sound. They immediately turned to him.

"Er," he said, uncomfortable at being the center of attention of so many people now that the immediate crisis had passed. _Where to begin..._

"It was me!" a young voice bawled from the crowd.

Harry blinked. "What?"

A small girl with the Hufflepuff crest on her robes stepped forward through the crowd. She couldn't be older than a second year. "I'm the one who poisoned them!" she wailed. "I didn't know! The man said that it was a cheering potion! He said that -said that it would make everybody happier!" She sniffled, wiping her nose on her robes. "He told me what to put where, and I thought it'd make everything better!"

Harry sighed and rubbed his forehead. He felt a headache coming on. "Can you tell us what the man looked like?"

She wiped her eyes. "He was tall. He was handsome, and had long, white-blonde hair. He had a cane with a snake on top."

"Malfoy," Ron Weasley muttered.

"You don't know that, weasel!" Draco Malfoy exclaimed. "It could have been someone under polyjuice!"

"Yeah, right," Ron said. "Like we believe those pathetic excuses. Your dad's a Death Eater, everyone knows that. Heck, he went to Azkaban a year ago!"

"And was released by Fudge himself," Draco said through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, well we all know that Fudge is crooked as a - "

"Enough!" Harry shouted. When both boys turned to glare at him, he said, "Now is not the time for this kind of argument."

"Who voted _you_ leader, Potty?" Draco demanded. "You're not even a prefect!"

Myriad voices from the crowd shouted in outrage at _Malfoy_ challenging their hero.

Harry silenced them with a sharp gesture, staring hard at his school nemesis. "You think I _want_ to be - No, you'll never believe me. Come up here, Malfoy," he said.

"I don't follow your orders, Potter," Draco snarled.

"Oh, just do it, won't you?" Ernie asked.

"Stop wasting time, Draco," Blaise Zabini chimed in, ignoring the betrayed glares of the other Slytherins.

Draco sneered, but complied, since he was so obviously outvoted. He walked to where Harry was standing. "Now what?" he said.

Harry just shrugged before walking toward the crowd, turning to face him only once he was standing just in front of the group. "Now you're in charge," Harry said simply.

Draco blinked. "I'm - what?" he gaped.

"In charge," Harry said. "So, lead us, oh wise one."

The students turned expectant eyes to the Slytherin, half of them understanding what Harry was doing and looking forward to Malfoy's downfall, and the other half genuinely wanting someone, anyone, to follow.

"Uh - um," the boy stammered. He swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing. He clenched his fists at his sides so tightly that his knuckles were white. He stood there for nearly half a minute, shifting uncomfortably from side to side, avoiding making eye contact with everyone, becoming increasingly unnerved by the silence, before snapping, "Get back up here, Potter." Harry raised an eyebrow. "It's not as if anybody'd listen to me anyway, when it's my dad's fault we're stuck here," Draco muttered. "Anyway, I suppose you're better than the other pathetic choices."

"Thank you for that vote of confidence," Harry said as he retook his position in front of the group. "Look, I'm not trying to be your leader," he said. "I'm just trying to make sure order is restored so we can make an informed choice. I guess for that to happen, you need to be informed about what's going on." He took a deep breath, then expelled it heavily as he looked at the eager faces around him, taking in the fact that the students were scrunched together with many of the smaller ones being crushed by the larger. "Why don't you all sit in your usual places?" he suggested. When they had all taken their seats, he walked to stand in front of the Head Table. "All right," he muttered to himself. Then, louder, "All right. I don't know how to put this gently, so I'll just say it: almost all of the professors are out of commission, and we may not be able to wake them up. In addition, Hogwarts has been locked down, with no access in or out, not even for owls, and I anticipate that Voldemort has set up his new headquarters directly outside."

"What does that mean, exactly?" Tonks asked from her position perched at the end of the Gryffindor table.

"It means," Harry replied slowly, "That Hogwarts is now completely isolated from the rest of the world. It also means that the students are going to have to mostly be in charge of themselves, since so few adults are left."

"Why don't you just get rid of the lockdown?" a voice from the Ravenclaw table shouted.

"Didn't you hear him?" Hermione asked. "Voldemort's right outside! Hogwarts is under siege! Getting rid of the lockdown could mean suicide!"

Pandemonium followed her words.

"We're going to starve to death!" someone shrieked.

"We're all going to die!"

"You-Know-Who's going to kill us all!"

"I want my mother!"

"Let's just give him the Mudbloods, and hope he leaves the rest of us alone!"

"Thank you, Hermione," Harry muttered under his breath. He took another deep breath, then bellowed, "Everybody calm down!" Not all of the frightened exclamations ceased, but enough so that Harry could be heard. "Look, we're not going to die, and we're not going to throw anyone to the wolves, either. We're responsible students; we're not going to reenact _The Lord of the Flies_."

Mostly blank stares met that pronouncement.

"Er, muggle reference, sorry. I'm just trying to say, we're not going to kill each other, and as long as Hogwarts is locked down, the bad guys can't get in. We're safe."

"What about food?" someone called out. "How're we going to keep from starving to death?"

Harry thought for a moment before breaking into a smile. "Dobby!" he shouted.

With a _pop_ that surprised most of the confused students, Dobby the house-elf appeared in the middle of the Great Hall. "Yes, Harry Potter sir? Harry Potter sir is wanting Dobby?" he asked earnestly.

"Yes, Dobby," Harry said kindly. "Now, the house-elves have noticed the lockdown, right?"

"Of course, Harry Potter sir," Dobby said, bobbing his head subserviently. "We is all connected to Hogwarts, we is feeling when she is being separated from everywhere else. What is the great Harry Potter wanting to know?"

"How are you going to keep feeding us for the duration of the lockdown?" he inquired. "Do you have enough food in storage?"

A number of students leaned forward in their chairs, eager to hear the answer to his question, and Harry realized with a wince that it might have been a bad idea to ask that question in front of every student in the hall, since it would probably cause a riot if Dobby's answer was "no."

Fortunately, Dobby broke into a wide grin. "Of course there is being enough food, Harry Potter sir! Hogwarts and her elves is always being ready for a lockdown. There is being a farm under the school that is always being tended just in case."

Harry blinked. "A farm? Under Hogwarts?"

"Oh, yes, Harry Potter sir," Dobby effused. "There is being cows and sheeps and pigs and - "

"Thank you, Dobby," Harry cut him off. "I'm glad to hear that. Would it be possible for the house-elves to arrange for some wizards to go down and see this farm sometime?"

"Of course," the house-elf said. "Is Harry Potter wanting to go now? Dobby can take him!"

"Not right now, thanks, Dobby," Harry said. "Later, though. I'd like you to stay for the rest of this...meeting...if you're not too busy, Dobby, since you and the other house-elves will need to know what's happening."

Dobby burst into tears. "Harry Potter is being such a great wizard! He is too kind to Dobby! Asking Dobby to watch an important meeting! Harry Potter sir is so kind and generous!" Still bawling, he allowed himself to be led to a bench by Hermione, who appeared to be on the verge of telling Harry off for treating the house-elves as slaves.

The amazed voice of Draco Malfoy could be heard over Dobby's crying, saying, "You know, I think he used to be my house-elf..."

Harry cleared his throat. "So, we've established that we're safe where we are, and there will be no starving to death. I think that before we go any further we should figure out who's going to be in charge for the duration of the siege. Now, naturally, I think Professor Tonks should be our leader - "

_Smash! Bang! Crunch!_

Tonks stared at him in utter terror from her position lying on a pile of silverware, which she had pushed over and then fallen upon upon hearing his pronouncement. Her hair was changing colors so quickly they could barely be differentiated. "No way!" she said, her voice panicked. "If it's a staff member you're looking for, I'm not it. I don't have a leadership bone in my body! I vote for Harry!"

Harry frowned at her in disappointment. "Right, then. I guess the next choice would be..." He reluctantly turned his eyes to Professor Trelawney.

When she realized that she was being considered as a candidate for leader, the Divination professor's eyes immediately rolled back into her head. "My inner eye tells me that we will all die," she intoned. Lavendar Brown gasped. "We will all die," the fraud continued, "We will all die, unless led by the one with the lightning upon his face..."

Tonks snorted. "Now, that was complete bollocks." A number of students looked at her incredulously, not believing that one teacher had actually just said that about another. "What?" Tonks asked.

"I guess that was a 'no,' then," Harry said. "Well, then"

"Don' even bother, Harry," Hagrid told him. "We both know I'm not cu' ou' ta be a leader."

"Fine," he growled, closing his eyes for a long moment. "And Madam Pomfrey's going to be too busy in the infirmary to be able to take much of a leadership position. I guess in that case one of us students will have to be in charge. Now, Hermione and Ernie are Head Girl and Boy, so maybe - "

"Don't even think about it, Harry," Ernie broke in. "I may be Head Boy, but everyone's following you. We voted you leader when this whole thing began, even if you didn't realize it."

"He's right," Hermione said. "While I'm flattered you would consider nominating me, it's clear that you've already taken control. You're the leader Harry; we trust you."

There were murmurs of agreement throughout the crowd.

Harry winced. "Are you all absolutely certain this is what you want?" he asked desperately. People began nodding with great vigor. Even the Slytherins reluctantly concurred, obviously pained at the thought of following the ultimate Gryffindor, but at the same time knowing that he was their best bet for survival. "Very well," he acquiesced unhappily. "But I'm not going to lead you all on my own. We need to come up with some sort of hierarchy or council or something. Any suggestions?"

"We could just use the prefects," Ernie suggested.

Surprisingly, it was Hermione who disagreed. "That wouldn't be a good idea in the long run," she argued. "The prefects were chosen by the teachers because they thought that we could keep everyone else under control, but the teachers aren't here any more. The people in charge need to be people who we, the students, will actually follow. I mean, Harry wasn't even a prefect, an we've chosen him to be in charge."

"After that speech, I'm nominating Hermione to be one of the Gryffindor lieutenants, that's for sure," Ginny Weasley said.

Murmurs of agreement could be heard.

"But how many lieutenants should there be per house?" a Hufflepuff asked.

"Three," Ron suggested. "Just enough to keep everyone in line."

"In that case, I think the other two for Gryffindor ought to be Ginny Weasley andColin Creevey," Seamus Finnigan suggested.

"Anyone disagree?" Harry asked. No one at the Gryffindor table objected.

The other three houses huddled around their tables, discussing their own choices. The Slytherins finished first. "We choose Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, and Malcolm Baddock," they announced.

This assertion was soon followed by Ravenclaw's "Terry Boot, Padma Patil, and Stewart Ackerley," and Hufflepuff's "Hannah Abbott, Ernie Macmillan, and Justin Finch-Fletchley."

The discussion seemed to lull for a minute before Harry began nodding with a smile. "Good, good," he said. "This is a good start." He glanced up at the ceiling, which was charmed to reflect the sky, and started in surprise when he saw how dark it was. It had to have been nearly midnight. "Perhaps it would be best to save further planning until tomorrow," he said. "It's late, and we probably shouldn't try to make any important decisions when we're falling asleep. If captains and prefects would escort everyone to your House dormitories, we'll reconvene tomorrow at 8:00 to decide where to go from here."

The typical noisy sounds which come of a large group preparing to leave filled the hall before Harry remembered something else he was supposed to say. "Also," he raised his voice, "I'd like eight volunteers who're willing to work six-hour shifts in the Hospital Wing helping take care of the teachers until further notice." About fifteen hands were raised, and Harry chose the eight who seemed most responsible. "Thank you, and good night, everyone! Try not to worry too much."

He watched as the students and teachers filed from the hall. Hermione and Tonks were the only two to stay behind.

"What did you think you were doing, nominating _me_ to be a leader?" Tonks demanded, slapping Harry upside the head. "Are you mad?"

"Really, Harry, you did a great job. I was very impressed," Hermione said encouragingly. Then she smirked wickedly. "I had no idea you had ever read a book as serious as _Lord of the Flies_."

"There's a lot you don't know about me," he said tiredly, too exhausted to respond to her banter as he would have liked.

"Are you all right?" she asked in concern.

"Oh, I'll be fine," he said. "It's just the strain of taking the wards on top of everything else that's happening that's wearing me down."

"I had forgotten," she said. She touched his arm lightly. "Are they a terrible drain?"

"Not a drain, really," he said, frowning as he tried to explain. "I can actually feel them making me stronger; they just also have the drawback of making me feel like I have a thirty pound load on my shoulders."

"I'm sure they'll get lighter with time," Tonks said optimistically.

"Hmmm," Harry murmured noncommittally. "Well, I'm for bed. I have to try to get some sleep before I fully register the fact that I've just been chosen to lead three hundred students, one wacky teacher, a fraud, and a dangerous-animal-loving Groundskeeper for an indeterminate length of time."

"You forgot Filch," Tonks put in helpfully.

"Thank you, Tonks," Harry replied sarcastically. "Now my day is complete."

The three of them trudged in companionable silence from the Great Hall, none feeling quite as bad about the situation as they could have had things gone differently.

After all, Harry Potter was not many things, but he _was_ a great leader and, when it came to the important things, the most dependable wizard at Hogwarts.

* * *

Please Review! Let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed; I'm glad you like this fic, and I'll do my best to keep it good! I was going to make this chapter longer, but I wanted to get it out this weekend, so I had to put it out as is. Sorry.

I'm looking for a beta-reader for this fic, if anyone's interested.

Review and let me know what you prefer!

Just a reminder (both to my wonderful reviewers/readers and myself), the new hierarchy of Hogwarts Under Siege is as follows:

Harry Potter as leader

A council of students comprised of:

Draco Malfoy  
Blaise Zabini  
Malcolm Baddock  
Hermione Granger  
Ginny Weasley  
Colin Creevey  
Terry Boot  
Padma Patil  
Stewart Ackerley  
Hannah Abbott  
Ernie Macmillan  
Justin Finch-Fletchley

And the following staff:

Nymphadora Tonks, DADA  
Sybill Trelawney, Divination  
Rubeus Hagrid, Care of Magical Creatures  
Poppy Pomfrey, Nurse

Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Harry Potter.

* * *

Chapter 2: In Which People Begin to Cope 

**September 9th, 1997, A.K.A. Lock Down: Day 1**

Draco Malfoy woke as usual the next morning in his dorm bed, and for one beautiful, long minute almost convinced himself that the events of last night had all been a dream. He stared at the cloth covering suspended by the four posts over his bed, taking in its comforting dark green color, its silver trimmings, the fold of the cloth, and listened to the familiar sounds of his sleeping dormmates: Vincent Crabbe's sleep-mutterings, Theo Nott's deep, calm breathing, and Blaise Zabini's light, quick breathing, almost inaudible. The only sound missing was the obnoxious snoring of Greg Goyle, but he had become accustomed to its absence in the year since his death at the hands of a _Hufflepuff girl_, of all people.

For a long moment, Draco was almost able to convince himself that, last night, he hadn't seen Albus Dumbledork, the so-called 'greatest wizard in a century' fall victim to a potion snuck to him by a twelve-year-old girl. He was almost able to convince himself that immediately after Dumbledore's collapse, Voldemort and his entire force of Death Eaters had not stormed the castle, wands drawn and curses milliseconds away from leaving their lips, and been rebuffed by Perfect Potter, acting on his own against them with all the pride and majesty of an avenging angel-or demon.

Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy, heir to the Most Honored House of Malfoy, traditionally dark wizards, sworn from birth to be a servant to Lord Voldemort, tried desperately in that first moment of wakefulness to convince himself that, if the Dark Lord and his cohorts had successfully breached the castle walls the evening previous, they would have been careful in their discernment of foe from friend. That they would have picked their targets carefully, remembering that their own children were within. That they hadn't been blinding aiming into the mass of students gathered at the doorway last night, ready to strike down _any_ who stood in their way...even those who had been in that position only because they were turning to join them.

But Draco, a young, unexceptional wizard with a taste for power and an enduring hatred for those who bested him in anything, could not convince himself that, last night, he had not looked straight down a too-familiar wand-twelve inches long, yew with acromantula heart string-and seen a pair of icy grey eyes, exactly the same shade as his own, staring straight back at him, any recognition for his only son quashed by blood-lust and a shockingly, disturbingly strong loyalty to the Lord he served. Draco had not even known that his father had escaped from Azkaban.

His horror and fear had been such that he had actually been _relieved_ to hear that Dumbledore was still alive. Relieved! That blasted Headmaster had been a thorn in the Dark Lord's side for decades, and Draco was actually hoping that he would make it! One bloody failed attempt to take over Hogwarts, and Draco was helplessly betraying everything he had ever believed! Yet, what else could he have done? Stood there like a hippogriff to the slaughter as the Dark Lord stormed the castle and killed everyone, regardless of their loyalty, within?

He started in surprise and fear when a shadow, darker even than the darkness of the room, appeared over his face. He reached blindly for his wand, which he had stupidly left on his night-table, unable to find it in that single, desperate instant which was all it would take for an enemy to kill him. Even as his fingers sought the wand, his eyes darted up to meet his assailants.

In the days, weeks, years, even, after, Draco could never explain why the sight of Potter, his most hated rival, that detestable Gryffindor, was enough to reassure him in such a way that he immediately relaxed back onto the bed, allowing his hand to fall to the bed, still unarmed.

Somehow, the image of those piercing green eyes, burning with a fierce determination undimmed by his obvious fatigue, that scar which seemed to stand out more than usual on his forehead, was enough to convince him if only for a short while that he was safe, that everything would be all right.

That didn't stop him from reacting with his usual vitriol, of course.

"What the hell are you doing here, Potter?" he hissed.

Giving him a look of irritation, Potter quickly put his finger across his lips in the universal gesture meaning, 'shut up!'

"We're having a meeting of lieutenants in the Great Hall," he whispered. "Get Blaise and Malcolm and come down as soon as you can, but try not to wake the others."

Draco considered arguing just to spite his nemesis, but decided not to waste his breath. He had acknowledged Potter as his leader yesterday, so there was no use acting up right now. Better to wait till Potter's back was turned, after all...

"Fine," he snarled. "Now, get out, Potter!"

Potter just shook his head, whether in disgust or amusement, it was impossible to tell, and retreated.

Forty minutes later, Draco Malfoy, impeccably groomed and with his usual swagger in his step, entered the Great Hall like a conquering king.

And was promptly shot down.

"What took you so long?" Potter demanded in annoyance.

Draco glared. "I had to do my morning toiletries, of course, Potter."

"Next time," Potter said through gritted teeth, "Will you please _hurry_ when I ask you to?"

"I did hurry," Draco replied flippantly, running his hand through his well-combed hair as if to prove his point.

"Draco, quit being such an arse," Blaise told him.

Draco turned his glare to this House traitor. "Whose side are you on?" he demanded.

"On the side that won't get us all killed, idiot," Blaise snarled back. Draco blinked in surprise at the counter-attack by the usually mild-mannered Slytherin. Blaise was known in Slytherin for not taking sides in the war and for avoiding trouble when he could find it, so for him to actually stand up against the self-declared Prince of Slytherin was an amazing feat.

"Please," Granger said tiredly, "Can we stop fighting so much? Malfoy, that means you need to stop giving us so much to fight over, and the rest of us, that means to stop rising to his rather pathetic bait."

Draco reluctantly complied, taking a seat along the Head Table, which had been provided with extra seats so that the lieutenants were sitting all around it, with Potter at its head.

"I agree," Potter said shortly. He leaned on his elbows against the table, looking at each of the lieutenants in turn, Draco last of all. "We have important things to do at this council. All of us have been chosen by our peers to lead this school for however long the lockdown and the teachers' incapacitation lasts, and I for one don't plan on letting them down. If any of you feel differently, please feel free to step down."

No one moved.

"Good. Now, first, I think we need to set some ground-rules for when we meet as a council like this. I suggest that we drop this last-name business; we ought to call each other by our first names, since we'll be needing to become more comfortable with each other. Any objections?"

"I think that's an excellent idea, Harry," Professor Tonks said sweetly. "However, as a professor, I will still demand the respect my position entails, and require that you call me Tonks."

"Really, Nymphadora, we're all equals here," Weaselette bantered in reply.

"Ginny..." Tonks said warningly.

"Oh, fine," the girl pouted.

Potter cleared his throat. "Moving on, I think there was something you wanted to say, Hermione?"

That bushy-haired, bookworm _mudblood_ Granger nodded importantly. "Yes, thanks, Harry. Last night, before going to bed, I skimmed through _Hogwarts, A History_ again-"

Stewart Ackerley, a Ravenclaw, coughed. "Again!" he gasped in a strangled voice.

She glared primly at him. "Yes, again. As I was saying, I skimmed through it again, and found a section on the wards. Now, I just felt that I needed to bring this up because it mentions that the wards ought to be held by an adult wizard, and one of great power. While none of us can deny that Harry is quite powerful, I was wondering whether the fact that it ought to be an adult wizard doing the job meant that Tonks would be better suited for the task?"

Tonks choked, then glared at Granger with what looked like real menace. "Will you people stop doing this!" she demanded. "I will tell you this once and for all: I am not a leader, I am not a powerful wizard, and I am certainly not even one of the most mature people in this room! I'm an auror, plain and simple, and I'm good at one thing: killing or otherwise disarming dark wizards. I take orders, and I'm good at it. I don't give them."

Granger recoiled before the DADA teacher's unusually vehement response. "All right, all right, sorry Tonks," she placated. Her gaze swept down the table to Trelawney and that oaf, Hagrid, who were both sitting at the far end, gazing into space and watching the proceedings in confusion, respectively. "I guess that rules out transferring the wards, then," she muttered. She looked apologetically at Potter. "I'm sorry, Harry."

_Sorry? Sorry for what?_ Although, now that Draco looked closer at the Gryffindork, he did look a bit more worn down than usual, but that wasn't really a surprise. But was it the wards doing that to him?

"I'm all right, Hermione," Potter said. "Moving on, then, we need to decide what we're going to do with ourselves for the foreseeable future."

"Can't we just do classes as usual, with student teachers?" Patil asked.

"We probably could," Potter acknowledged. He smiled a bit as he added, "I'm sure Hermione could teach every class herself, if we had a Time Turner." Granger blushed. "I think the question, though, is whether we really want to."

Several students around the table made noises of confusion.

"Think about it," Potter said, his eyes burning with that same intensity which had mesmerized Draco earlier. He found himself as hypnotized now. "The war with Voldemort started again when Cedric was murdered, to be sure, but the real battle hasn't been truly joined for any of you until yesterday. The war was _there_, but it hadn't really touched you." Draco was intrigued by Potter's use of 'you' rather than 'we.' But then, even Draco could admit that Potter had been through things the rest of them could only imagine. "Now, though, the war has come to our own doorstep. Voldemort-" most of the room flinched "-is waiting right outside. If we were to open those doors, he would come in here and slaughter every student he could find. Our greatest protectors, the teachers, are unconscious and will remain so until we can manage to brew the potion needed to awaken them, or until the siege is lifted, one way or another." Several students paled at the blunt outline of their situation. Then, Potter did something none of them expected. He smiled.

"This is a golden opportunity," he continued, a new vivacity to his speech that had all of his listeners enthralled. "We are as separated from the rest of the world as it is possible to be-we, three hundred students and a couple adults, all of us with different skills, different strengths, all of us Hogwarts students, if there is no other factor which unifies us, trapped indefinitely in an enormous castle with what might well be the largest library on Earth." He paused, as if to let his comments sink in.

"What exactly are you proposing?" Blaise asked cautiously.

Potter stared evenly back at him. "I'm proposing that we do what our teachers have failed to do: to train ourselves for the war. Our teachers hoped that we wouldn't need to fight, that we wouldn't be involved in the war. For the most part, they turned a blind eye, failing to give us the skills which would be truly useful in warfare. But they were wrong. Now, the war is on our front step. If we don't teach ourselves to defend ourselves, who will? Are we going to waste this valuable time that's been given to us? Sitting back and doing nothing for the next week, or month, or year, even, is tantamount to giving in to Voldemort. Now, I don't have any details or anything worked out, but I do know that we need to take things into our own hands. We need to prepare ourselves for when the lockdown is lifted and the curses start flying."

There was silence for several minutes after Potter finished his impassioned speech, as the lieutenants absorbed his words. Finally, it was the voice of Hannah Abbott, the Hufflepuff who had killed Goyle, which quietly addressed the council. "I agree with Harry. The war hasn't just begun for me, just like it hasn't just begun for Harry. Harry, Ron, and Hermione have been fighting it since they were eleven, and I got involved last year. When Goyle attacked me, I didn't hesitate-I took him out like I've trained to do in the DA, and he didn't stand a chance. And that's just from once a week training! Imagine what we could do if we devoted ourselves to training and preparing ourselves! We could make a real difference in this war."

Draco felt that he must speak now before the fools got too excited about their ridiculous idea. "Have you forgotten," he asked, "that not everyone here _wants_ to fight _against_ Voldemort? We're not all on the same side of this war, Potty."

_Oh, well done, Draco, now he's glaring at you. _And this wasn't the kind of glare that Draco used to love provoking in Potter, the 'I would snap and attack you if there weren't teachers around us,' this was a 'this is a life-or-death situation and _you are wasting my time_' glare. Inwardly, he quailed, but his eyes were defiant.

"I hold the wards to this castle, Draco," Potter said. "Perhaps you don't know what that involves. I know almost everything that's happening in this castle. I receive constant feedback from the portraits and from Hogwarts herself. I know things that I have no right knowing, but I also know things that are very important for us to consider. For example, I know for a fact that now, in this castle, there are ten students who bear the Dark Mark." Several suspicious glances were shot at Draco. "I also know," Potter continued, "that none of those students is on this council. I'm well aware that this doesn't mean that there aren't more students leaning toward becoming Death Eaters in the castle, but the simple fact of the matter is that if they haven't made their final decision, if they haven't taken the Mark, then we have a chance to show them what our side is fighting for."

"And what is 'our side' fighting for?" Draco demanded. "Liberty, equality, and Gryffindork stupidity?"

"Hey!" Creevey shouted, always ready to defend his hero. "Show some respect."

"It's all right Colin," Potter soothed. He turned his attention back to Draco. "I can't tell you what it is that we're fighting for, Draco." Draco twitched at the sound of Potter using his given name. "That's exactly my point. I could spout useless platitudes to you, but you'd never believe anything I said. Now, though, you have _no choice_ but to have a perfect view into what the 'other side'-our side-is like, because you're stuck here. We're all stuck here, together. If we want to survive more than four minutes beyond those doors opening sometime in the future, we'll have to work together. I think that the best way to channel our energies."

"I'm in," Terry Boot announced from a ways down the table. "I trust you, Harry, and if you say we need to learn to fight, then we need to learn to fight."

Trelawney's faux-mystical voice echoed down the table, "My inner eye foresees that we must follow the scarred one, though he lead us to death, death, death..."

Blaise objected, "Isn't it possible, though, that the war will be over, one way or another, before the lockdown ever ends? From what you've said, we have no communication with the outside world, so how will we know when to lower the wards and end the lockdown?"

"Oh my god," Granger whispered. "I read it last night, but I was so tired it didn't sink in...I've often wondered since second year, Harry..._are_ you the heir of Gryffindor?"

Potter gazed at her sorrowfully. "No, Mione, I'm not," he replied. "As a matter of fact, the only founder's heir in this castle right now is Albus Dumbledore, and he can't help anybody at the moment."

"But that means..." she trailed off in horror.

"What?" Draco demanded. "What does it mean? That Potter's not quite as much a Gryffindor as some of us thought he was?"

"What Hermione means is that there's a catch when it comes to the lockdown," Potter said. "I have a secure hold on the wards, and Hogwarts has accepted me, yes, but there is one flaw: Voldemort is a founder's heir, and I am not. That fact means that he will eventually be able to get through the lockdown, assuming he realizes what I've done and knows his advantage."

"How long?" Blaise asked. "How long till he could break through?"

"At least six months," Potter replied, and the lieutenants breathed a general sigh of relief. "And that's only if he works on it every hour of the day. As it is, though, the lockdown will deteriorate as he works on it, so starting in three months or so we'll need to be vigilant, especially against _rats_." He said that last bit with a significant glance at Granger, which piqued Draco's interest. "We should expect that the lockdown will be completely gone by the end of the school year."

"Another of your yearly adventures, eh, Harry?" Justin Finch-Fletchley asked good-naturedly. "Did you just _have_ to get the rest of us involved?"

Potter smiled in response, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Trust me, if I could do this alone, I would."

"Well, you're not alone, Pot-Harry," Blaise said. "Like you said, the rest of us are stuck here, too, and I'll be damned if I'm going to sit around on my arse and pray for the next nine months, with Voldemort bloody well knocking at the door and the teachers comatose."

"Blaise! Watch your language!" Granger sniped.

"Oh, leave him be, Hermione," Tonks said. "It's a pretty bloody stressful situation, after all."

"Tonks!" Granger shouted, aghast.

"Moving along," Potter interrupted. "Does everyone agree to the idea of training ourselves for war?"

"Just for the rest of us who haven't been in your little DADA group, Potter, when you say 'training', what exactly do you mean for us to do?" Malcolm asked.

"I suggest that we duel," Potter said bluntly. "Hours every day. I suggest that we train ourselves to have skills that Voldemort and his cronies won't expect. I suggest that we set up our own protections around Hogwarts so that even if, when, Voldemort gets in, he'll find his hands full with more than underage wizards."

"Hogwarts boot camp," Granger said appreciatively. "I like the sound of that."

"So?" Potter asked. "Do we do this thing?"

_Do we do this thing, Draco? Do we work with Potter, pretend to become his friend? Do we lower ourselves to train with the mudbloods and half-bloods?_ "What the hell," Draco said. "I'm in."

The rest of the council soon followed suit, putting their heads together as they began to plan.

* * *

Thanks to all my reviewers! 

Please keep the pairings votes coming. Also, for the next few chapters, I'll be taking votes on Harry's animagus form:

Dragon (my personal preference, even if it's not canon)  
Eagle  
Panther  
Other (feel free to make a suggestion-preferably an animal that can fly)

* * *

Please, please review!


	3. Chapter 3

Note: I can't believe it's been four months since I last updated! I'm so sorry! There's no good excuse!

Thank you so much to everyone who responded to my questions about pairings and animagus form! I'm leaning towards no pairing for Harry. As for animagus form…well, you'll just have to wait and see, although I will say that he won't be a phoenix.

Also, some of you have pointed out that James Potter was Head Boy even without having been prefect so it shouldn't have been ruled out for Harry, but I tried to say in the first chapter that he had to at least have had really good grades to have done that, and, while Harry has (in my story, which, by the way, is entirely independent of HBP) incredible skill at useful, practical magic, his grades have never been stellar.

Thanks for those who corrected me: it is now officially _Colin_ Creevey on the council, not Dennis. Sorry for the confusion.

Just a reminder, the hierarchy of Hogwarts Under Siege is as follows:

Harry Potter as leader

A council of students comprised of:  
Draco Malfoy  
Blaise Zabini  
Malcolm Baddock  
Hermione Granger  
Ginny Weasley  
Colin Creevey  
Terry Boot  
Padma Patil  
Stewart Ackerley  
Hannah Abbott  
Ernie Macmillan  
Justin Finch-Fletchley

And the following staff:  
Nymphadora Tonks, DADA  
Sybill Trelawney, Divination  
Rubeus Hagrid, Care of Magical Creatures  
Poppy Pomfrey, Nurse  
Argus Filch, caretaker

Disclaimer: I own nothing associated with Harry Potter except a well-worn set of the books.

* * *

Chapter 3: In Which the First Changes Are Implemented

**Lockdown: Day 1 cont'd**

Ronald Weasley woke with a stretch and a yawn at the pleasant hour of 10 a.m., and, with senses honed by hours of DA training and a general fear for his life for the past six years, immediately knew that something was wrong. In a quick, fluid motion, he pulled his wand from beneath his pillow, holding it at the ready in case an attacker should attempt to assault him. He cast a quick spell which enabled him to see through the curtains surrounding his bed - a spell courtesy of the DA, of course - and quickly ascertained that there was no one in the room who shouldn't be. A second look told him the reason for his suspense; someone was missing who in a better world would have still been in bed.

"Oh, Harry," he murmured under his breath. "You never do get a break, do you?"

There had been a time, a not-so-long ago time which now seemed a lifetime ago, when Ron would have been insanely jealous, both of Harry's position as leader, and his own lack of position even as a lieutenant. Having been raised in the shadows of his older brothers, Ron had always felt the need to prove himself.

He knew that if Bill, Charlie, or even Percy had been present yesterday, they would have taken leadership positions and been able to help calm people down after the initial panic. Everyone respected them and their commitment to responsibility.

Fred and George would have lightened the mood with a few jokes and pranks. Everyone loved them.

Heck, Ginny _was_ there, and she had been chosen as a Gryffindor lieutenant. Everyone knew that she was quite intelligent and very mature for her age.

Ron, though, Ron had been ignored during everything that had happened, and it was his own fault. He hadn't taken charge like Harry; he hadn't organized students in Harry's absence. In the past, he had always treated his Prefect duties as a joke. Leadership just wasn't his thing, no matter how much it had hurt his pride to realize that.

On the heels of that realization, however, had come a startling revelation: though he was not a leader, he was an impressive tactician. Though he was not the one people turned to to solve their problems, he was the stalwart best friend and sidekick of the one who was. He, like Hermione, was one of the pillars that Harry relied on, and, though he had failed in that position in the past due to his jealous resentment, he would not do so again.

Being the best friend and sidekick of the boy who would save their world was hardly something to scoff at, after all.

Ron would never know, because his siblings were too sensitive of his feelings (even the twins), that _they_ were often jealous of him for that position. They knew the truth: while each of them had had their moments of fame, their brief time in the spotlight, it was the Gryffindor trio, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and _Ronald_ Weasley, who would be put down in the history books for their achievements.

Heck, they already had a chapter of _Hogwarts, A History_ to themselves (or so Hermione had informed him), and they hadn't even graduated yet.

That's not to say, of course, that Ron wouldn't have liked to have been chosen as a lieutenant – but he also knew that he wouldn't have been helping himself or Harry by being offended.

He gathered the other boys in his dormitory, and they made their way down to the common room and then through the familiar halls of the school until they reached the Great Hall, ready for anything.

Or so they thought.

* * *

Hannah Abbott watched with no small amusement as the first students entered the Great Hall, as hungry as but less anxious than she had expected after the previous trying night. _Ron Weasley in particular_, she noted, easily picking him out by the color of his hair, taking in his typically ravenous appearance. His obvious hunger was not enough to keep him from noticing the changes that had occurred this very morning, however.

Of course, it was hard to miss some of the more obvious changes, such as the fact that the house tables had been removed, replaced instead by numerous smaller tables unmarked by house insignias. Additionally, the individual house banners had been taken down, and each had been replaced by the Hogwarts banner, with its proud design which incorporated the mascots of all four houses.

It took the students a little longer to notice that their robes had also been altered upon their entrance of the hall; their house logos, too had been changed into the standard Hogwarts sign. The next thing which drew their attention as they tentatively chose seats at the new tables was the much smaller selection of food than typically adorned Hogwarts' breakfast tables. The council had talked with the house elf called Dobby that morning, and he had briefed them on the state of the provisions for the school. It seemed that the enormous farm beneath the school – Harry had commented, face tense in concentration on the wards, that it must have been directly next to the Chamber of Secrets, which apparently was invisible to the wards, in order to be deep enough to be below the school and to still be within the wards – was large and well-tended enough to sustain the school for as long as necessary... "As long as," Dobby had said nervously, obviously leery of disappointing Harry, "the young masters and mistresses is not minding smaller variety. We is not wanting to kill all the pigses and cowses at once, and the cropses is needing to be harvested at the right time." Dobby had not been able to explain how sunlight was provided for the farm, and the council had resolved to investigate the matter further when there was more time.

Which meant that today the students were having omelets, warm milk (since that was the way it came out, Dobby had patiently explained), potatoes, and some fruit for breakfast. It was a far cry from the usual wide-ranging fare the house elves so diligently provided, but Hannah doubted there would be any complaints, except perhaps from the _Slytherins_.

On the heels of that thought came instant self-reproach. She hated the situation she was in, hated how it had changed her. She was a Hufflepuff, for heavens sake, at least, she had been, until the council had decided – after Harry's suggestion, of course – to eliminate house rivalries by completely getting rid of the house system. She was easygoing, loyal to a fault, and generally laid back. She didn't hold grudges, she had faith in her fellow wizards, and she loved furry animals.

And really, she had been all of those things for the first sixteen years of her life until that vile Death Eater had assaulted her and forced her into an abrupt transition from naïve child to jaded adult, the change inherent with casting _reducto_ for the very first time on a living being rather than a practice dummy.

Sometimes, especially at night, in the dark, when anything or anyone could be creeping around her bed, just waiting to strike, she could still smell and taste his blood. There had been so very much of it.

Sometimes, during the day, she hated herself for not feeling guilty. She hated herself for knowing that Goyle had forced her hand, that she had had no choice but to do what she did. She hated herself for the fact that she had not hesitated to shoot him down where he stood, when he had assaulted her. She hated herself for feeling absurdly proud when Harry had solemnly complimented her on her skill and offered to lend an ear if she ever needed to talk about "it."

"It." "It" was the event that no one else dared mention to her. "It" was the minute and a half that had changed her life so drastically that for the past year she had barely felt like a Hufflepuff at all. And, loathe as she was to admit it even to herself, "it" was probably the most defining moment of her life.

She knew what it was to hate now. She hated Goyle, for reasons needing no description. She hated Snape, for encouraging the Slytherins, even the good ones, like Blaise and a young girl named Evelyn who had once asked Hannah how to find the Charms classroom, to be as coldhearted and vicious as he was. Most of all, she hated Voldemort, for being the direct cause of all this pain. Her trust no longer came easily, either. The Slytherins...they had much to prove before she would ever accept them. Harry could say what he wanted about them all learning to work together, but the fact remained that most of Voldemort's supporters came from that house, and that Voldemort was the Heir to Slytherin.

She was often tense now. But at least she still liked small animals.

Sometimes, she looked at Harry and wondered how he did what he did, how he kept going every day, how he kept from becoming as bitter and hateful as she often felt. She had once thought that the difference between them was that, while she had killed to save herself, he had had to watch helplessly as people he cared about were killed in front of him. His parents, Cedric, his godfather... She had thought that, while killing had destroyed her, witnessing the destruction of all that he held dear had imbued him with that strange, intrinsic strength which propelled him.

Then, one day, _at the end of the previous year, when he was still recovering from the wounds inflicted on him in his latest face-off against Voldemort, she had found him in the Room of Requirements, sobbing in front of what appeared to her to be a reflectionless mirror with strange words written on top. She had unwittingly stepped forward to place a hand on his shoulder, and had suddenly found herself looking at her own reflection in the mirror...but the image that was reflected was not one that was familiar to her, except in the deepest recesses of her heart._

_She had seen herself, a healthy flush to her cheeks and a sincerely happy smile on her face, a sight that had not truly been present since "it." Ernie Macmillan was standing next to her, one arm casually hung over her shoulders. Standing behind them were her parents and older brother, all alive and in the best of health, now wan and drawn as they often were now. They were standing in the grass in front of her cozy family home, a bright sun shining down and illuminating their cheerful faces. A puppy was barking and frolicking in the background._

_She had instantly backed away from the image, frightened by the clarity of its perception. There was a part of her that yearned to look again, but the stronger, wiser part, the part that had first come into being, or that perhaps had been pulled from where it had been hiding, the moment she first killed, warned her against torturing herself with such temptation. It did her no good to tantalize herself with an image of something that was not, and might never be. That newer, jaded part of her warned against hope._

_Harry had ceased to sob as he looked into the mirror, and tore himself away from the sight as though it were trying to physically draw him closer. When he turned to face her, his eyes seemed to settle on some point over her shoulder, and they were slightly glazed, as though he saw something she could not. She was silent as they stood there, her eyes intent on his face, trying to burrow her way into his thoughts so that maybe, just maybe, she could understand what made him tick the way he did._

_At last, he swallowed convulsively, and then his face took on a determined look, his eyes narrowing and the sharp lines of his face seeming to grow even starker. His eyes refocused on Hannah, and a look of sadness seemed to flit over them, barely present before they became shuttered. He turned as if to leave without addressing her, and she felt as though the answer to all of her questions was about to slip through her fingers. _

_"What - " her throat seemed to clog up, "what do you see, in the mirror?"_

_He faced her again, and again his façade cracked for the slightest moment, allowing the frightened young boy within to look out for a moment before controlling himself again. "I see...the same thing I hope to see, every day," he had said. "I see what I know will come to be."_

_She blinked, and dared to hope. "This mirror – does it show the future, then?"_

_He had given her a look she could not decipher. "Not always. But in our case...I will do my utmost to see that it does. I give you my word, Hannah," he said, and his voice had had all of the earnestness of a young child. And then he had been gone._

_In the days after that encounter, she had scoured the library, searching for any reference to magical mirrors, and, at last, she had found it in the Restricted Section. The Mirror of Erised. It was a magical mirror which showed the looker's heart's deepest desires. For a week, she had been bitter, disgusted with Harry for leading her on. She had not understood his cryptic statements in front of the deceitful mirror._

_At last, in her anger, and anger which she had never known she had, she had confronted him. She had demanded to know why he had deceived her._

_He had gazed steadily at her, his striking green eyes disappointed, though she could not tell whether he were upset with her or something else. Then he had directed her to come with him to an empty classroom, and they had sat facing each other. _

_"Why are you so angry?" he had asked her. "Don't you believe that the things you want most will come to be?"_

_"I don't believe that lies spewed by a magical mirror will necessary come to be," she had snarled. "I can't believe that you would tell me that they would."_

_He had replied with an apparent non sequitor. "The first time I looked into that mirror, I was eleven years old," he told her. "I saw my family there with me, all of them, who are dead in reality. Dumbledore found me there and told me that 'it does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.' I pushed the mirror and the things it had shown me to the back of my mind, trying to do what he asked. I kept my eyes on what was important, on beating Voldemort to the stone, on saving Ginny, on rescuing Sirius, on escaping from the graveyard with Cedric's body in my arms... and in my fifth year, I exploded. I was so angry all the time. I was bitter, resentful, unhappy with my lot, dissatisfied with being treated like a child even though I wasn't one and hadn't been one since I had seen Voldemort sticking out of the back of Quirrell's head. I felt like I couldn't trust anyone, like there was no one on my side, and my stupid anger got my godfather killed."_

_She had opened her mouth, as if to reassure him, although she thought she understood how he had felt in that year: about the same as she herself had been feeling ever since "it," but he had stopped her from interrupting._

_"I know in my head that I can't take the blame for Sirius' death on my own shoulders alone, and that I probably shouldn't be doling out blame at all, except perhaps on Bellatrix Black and Voldemort himself. My heart thinks differently, however. But that's not really the point. The point is that, in the summer after fifth year, when I reached the utmost depths of despair, I started thinking about that mirror and what Dumbledore said again. Then, I found out that Remus Lupin, my only remaining father-figure, had been terribly injured in a battle. They thought for a long time that he wouldn't make it. But he did. He recovered, and during his recovery, he and Tonks fell in love."_

_She hadn't known at the time that this "Tonks" would be her teacher the next year._

_"They came to visit me at the Dursley's, looking so happy together, and it was then that I realized that in my first year Dumbledore was only partly right. It's true that it's wrong to dwell on dreams and forget to live...but it is equally wrong to focus only on living and forget to dream."_

_"I don't understand," Hannah had admitted. She thought she understood a bit of what he was talking about, but she couldn't quite grasp the point he was trying to get across._

_Harry had frowned a little. "Well...I knew when I came back to Hogwarts that year that I needed to look at the Mirror again. So, I went to the Room of Requirements, and found it there. When I looked into it, the image had changed."_

_"What did you see?" she had asked, a bit hesitantly, knowing after her own experience how intensely personal that question was._

_"I saw all of you, the DA, and the other people I cared about, happy and carefree. I saw a Hogwarts that was not under the shadow of a threat like Voldemort. And that's when I decided that nothing the Mirror shows is impossible. What use are dreams, if we disregard them? What use is life, if our deepest wishes have no chance of coming true? Hannah," he said intensely, "I've looked at old pictures and paintings of the people at Hogwarts. There are years upon years worth of photos of people at Hogwarts looking as cheerful as they did when I saw them in the mirror. The wizarding world has been happy before. I refuse to believe that it can't be so again. I know that Voldemort is not unbeatable. I know that there is hope for the future. You are upset that I asked you to believe that the images in the mirror might be true some day, but Hannah... I must believe that I can make them real. I must be able to believe, or I have nothing. Do you understand?"_

_"I think...you're saying that we need something to fight for. That we have to be able to believe in a better world, or we have nothing." She was surprised to find herself crying. She sagged a little, and felt grateful when he caught her in his arms. "I thought – I thought that after It I would never feel happy again...that it changed who I was...took away my hope. I thought that I'd been ruined for life."_

_"Shhh," he had said soothingly. "You're not ruined, Hannah. You know you did the right thing."_

_She had suddenly felt herself filled with fury. She had banged her fists against his chest in anger, barely noticing that he didn't react to her onslaught. "Don't patronize me!" she had shrieked. "How could you know! How could you possibly know what it is like to kill someone and feel nothing? To know that you have that evil inside you?"_

_He pulled her to him gently, holding her in his arms even as she tried to pull away. When he remained firm, she sagged against him, abruptly feeling all her anger leave her. She felt only emptiness. "You've never killed a man," she whispered. "How can you know what it's like?"_

_"I've never killed a man," he agreed. "But I will. You know it, and I know it. It's like a specter hanging over my entire life. I am constantly being pushed towards it, the moment when I must face and kill Voldemort, or everything I have fought for will have been for naught. Hannah, it's not evil to fight for yourself or the ones you love. It's not evil to kill in order to turn the dreams of the Mirror into reality; it's the opposite. It is perhaps the highest nobility I can think of. You are one of the bravest people I know, Hannah, because you haven't let what happened destroy you." He shushed her before she could argue. _

_"You are," he insisted. "You haven't missed one DA lesson since then, not one, and you're the only one who hasn't. You've worked harder than anyone else, and your skills have improved accordingly. The thing I'm most proud of about you is probably the thing that disgusts you the most: not the fact that you killed Goyle in self defense without hesitation, but the knowledge, and it is certain knowledge, that you will do something similar again in the future. You won't give in to despair, and you won't let Goyle or even Voldemort defeat you. You'll fight, and you'll do it well and without hesitation, because you're fighting for the image you see in the Mirror. You and I, Hannah...we won't come out of this war unscarred. We can't. It's already left its mark on both of us. But we can do our damnedest to keep the same thing from happening to others. And, in the end, when the war is over and we're victorious...I think you'll find it within yourself to regain most of that old joy you once felt, only this time, it will be sweeter and deeper, because you'll know that it didn't come easily, but that you fought for it, and demanded it as your right."_

_He gazed at her with those serious green eyes that could see right into her soul. "I have faith in you, Hannah. You should, too." He gently released her, stood, and headed towards the exit._

_"How can your first dream come true?" she called after him. "How could you possibly be with your family again?"_

_"My family is here, right now, in this castle," he answered. "And my family is somewhere else, in some other plane of existence we all go to when we die. I make the most of the time I have with this family on earth, and I know that, sooner or later, whether it be in battle against Voldemort or a hundred years from now in my sleep, someday I will journey to that plane and be with them again."_

_And with that, he had been gone._

Their conversation had not healed her completely. All the pretty words he had to offer, though they touched her deeply, had not been enough to repair the damage already done. They had begun the process, though, enabled her to see past the confused maelstrom of her thoughts to begin to live, and to fight, again.

In many ways, she was glad of the lockdown of Hogwarts. Yes, it was creepy knowing that Voldemort was right outside the castle walls doing his best to get in and kill them all, and, yes, it had been terrifying seeing Albus Dumbledore, the pinnacle of light, so easily laid low. Like Harry, however, she could see the benefits of the situation. The teachers had not taken the effects of the war on the students seriously. They had not trained the students as they needed to be trained. They had wanted to give the children a chance at a normal childhood, and had willfully ignored the threat from outside.

Now the teachers were out of commission. They had failed.

The students would not do the same.

Already the council had begun to lay plans for the future. Many of which were going to be announced...

...now.

"May I have everyone's attention, please?" he asked, standing and immediately catching everyone's eyes. "I hope everyone's feeling all right after everything that happened yesterday. You've undoubtedly noticed the changes to the Great Hall and your robes. We, and by that, I mean the council, have been talking, and we think that we've come up with a viable plan for the rest of the year. We've talked it over, and we believe that, rather than continuing the traditional Hogwarts education in the teachers' absence, we should be more active in preparing ourselves for war. Voldemort is right outside our gates, and, while he cannot reach us now, there will be a time not too long away when we will have to face him. When that time comes, we should be prepared, facing him as well-trained wizards, and not school children cowering in fear. What say you?"

There was a general roar of agreement from the crowd, most of which was comprised of students eager to follow any leadership from their newly appointed leader.

Harry blinked, surprised by the effusive agreement with that vaguely-outlined plan. "Er, right. Mione?" he prompted, inviting the self-appointed council scribe to take charge.

"Right," she said, looking down at her list. "Now, we think that it would be best if everyone learns certain core skills which will prove most useful in battle, and then people can choose to specialize in certain aspects. For example, everyone needs to know the basics of dueling and field medicine. We also believe that it would be most useful if everyone knew how to form at least a weak patronus, and...we would like for as many people as possible to learn the animagus transformation."

Hannah looked at the assembled students, and noted that many of them looked shocked at this pronouncement.

Hermione pretended not to notice their consternation, and continued down the list. "In addition, certain students will focus on learning advanced potions making skills, brewing the necessary potions to keep the school running, and hopefully, eventually brewing the antidote to the _somnus aeternus_ potion that has put the professors into comas. Others will work on defending the fortifications of the school. Others will work on aerial defense, practicing dueling using brooms in the Great Hall. Students who are knowledgeable about agriculture may be asked to help with the running of the school's farm. Other students will learn advanced healing. There are probably other specializations we'll think of when the time comes." She looked up from the list at the stupefied faces of the listeners. She frowned.

Harry stepped forward. "I know it sounds like we're asking a lot, and we are. But we're doing this because we want to win this war. We want to be able to protect ourselves and each other from the people who have come here to hurt us. Now, I'm sure a number of you have various skills, hidden or otherwise, which you can help teach others or which you want to work on yourself which can help our cause. If you do, I'm asking you to please step forward to write them on the board." As he spoke, he conjured a large whiteboard to hover in the air.

For a long moment, nobody moved. The mass of students seemed to be petrified.

Then, at last, there was movement at a table mostly comprised of Gryffindors. A trembling Neville Longbottom stepped forward, tentatively took a marker from beneath the board, and hurriedly began to scribble. Ron Weasley quickly joined him.

In the following minutes, others began to step forward as well.

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Please review!


	4. Chapter 4

Author's note: Those of you who have finished reading _Deathly Hallows_ might understand why I've been inspired to update this particular fic after so long. For what my opinion's worth, I was mostly satisfied by this final book, and thought that it was many times better than the previous two combined.

I'd like to promise that I'll finish this…but I've proven to myself that I seem unable to keep such promises. I can only promise to try.

There will be no spoilers in this fic for DH.

Please review!

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_Three months later_

Severus Snape groaned. The sound rang loudly in his ears and increased the pain of his headache tenfold.

"Professor Snape?"

Who had spiked his pumpkin juice? It could have been Albus, he supposed, who had an infuriating habit of trying to get him to "loosen up," as the old coot put it.

"Professor Snape."

It had to be a hangover that was causing this terrible nausea. Although, he couldn't imagine how a student could have gotten into his bedroom, or why any student would dare approach him at this ungodly hour of the morning.

"Professor Snape, _open your eyes._"

Draco Malfoy had never sounded so commanding before in his life, Snape was sure. The little cretin had always ordered his dim-witted minions about, of course, but no one of any character would ever have bothered to listen to him. Now, though…Snape opened his eyes, though he took his time doing it.

"Mr. Malfoy," he began icily as the first blinding shards of light stabbed through the cracks in his eyelids, "what exactly—" He could not say whether it was the sudden agonizing pain of light in his sensitive eyes or his shock at what he saw that stopped the words in his throat.

He was not in his bedroom. He was not, in fact, in any room he could recall having inhabited before. This room was cold, yes, like his bedroom, and dank and overall wretched as well. But where his bedroom was part of a large suite bedecked in green and silver, this room was small and cramped, containing only the small bed on which he was lying and a nightstand precariously balanced on three legs. On top of the nightstand laid an empty, discarded vial.

He knew suddenly, surely, that something was terribly wrong.

His obsidian eyes closed once, and stayed close for ten racing beats of his heart. Then they opened again.

"Mr. Malfoy," he said again, as if the pause had not occurred. "What exactly is going on?"

There was something different about Malfoy, he thought as he watched the boy through keen eyes. Gone was the sniveling brat he had pampered for years, and before him stood a young man who, though far from intimidating, seemed to almost have a spine.

Malfoy swallowed once. "I'm afraid that's rather hard to explain, sir," he said.

"Try, Mr. Malfoy," he intoned in a voice that had once sent a Hufflepuff to her dormitory in tears.

Malfoy's eyes flashed at the tone, a sudden stab of defiance that did nothing to soothe Snape's nerves.

"You've been out of the loop for a while, _sir_, so I understand why you're confused about the situation," Malfoy replied. "Professor Snape, it's been three months since the welcoming feast."

Snape's mind blanked. "That's impossible," he sneered, for want of a better expression.

Malfoy met his eyes evenly, and did not balk. Snape realized with a jolt part of what was so wrong with this picture: Malfoy's robes lacked the Slytherin badge.

"You and almost all of the other teachers were dosed with the _somnus aeternus_ potion at the feast," Malfoy told him. "We have just revived you."

"Don't be ridiculous," Snape replied. "It wouldn't take three months to revive me from that potion. St. Mungos must have the antidote in stock, and even if not it would only take a potions master a month to brew the antidote. I don't know what kind of prank you are pulling, Malfoy, but I assure you—"

"Look around you!" Malfoy snarled, stopping Snape mid-sentence. The pale teenager gestured at the bare walls surrounding them. "This is not St. Mungos! You are in Hogwarts, Professor Snape. You have been in Hogwarts since the feast. It might only take a potions master a month to brew the antidote, but it turns out that it takes your ten best potions students and our ten best gardeners three months to get it right." Malfoy sighed, then ran his hand through his hair in a gesture that was not his own—a gesture eerily reminiscent of a boy the same age whom Snape had cause to hate.

"Explain, Mr. Malfoy," Snape ordered, but this time his voice came out more softly.

"Har—Potter didn't have a choice," Malfoy said, pleaded. "The Dark Lord was here, and all of the adults were out of commission—or worse than useless." The boy hesitated. "He put Hogwarts into lockdown."

Snape heard a roaring in his ears and struggled to speak past it. "Potter doesn't have that kind of power."

"He does," Malfoy argued.

"He doesn't have that kind of control," Snape insisted, feeling cold.

"He does," Malfoy told him.

"What of Dumbledore?" Snape changed tactics, still hoping to catch his student in a lie.

Malfoy's mouth tightened. "He's…incapacitated. Worse than you were. It's some kind of potion that was specially designed for him. Potter managed to place him in a stasis before it killed him, but we haven't even begun to understand the intricacies of the potion involved. That's part of why you were the first to be revived."

Snape stared incredulously. "You can't mean that of all the teachers you could have revived, you chose me?" His Slytherins he would expect to choose him, but how well he knew that his snakes comprised only a fourth of the school—and a reviled fourth as well. He marveled at the cunning his students had shown in convincing the others to use what was obviously a limited supply of potion to revive him first.

Malfoy shrugged. "A lot of people were in favor of Flitwick, for his dueling abilities. Harr—Potter, that is, wanted McGonagall, I think, just so he could pass on the burden of leadership. Granger was the one who insisted that it be you, though."

"Since when has Ms. Granger's opinion meant anything to you, Mr. Malfoy?" Snape inquired. He sat up in his bed, the unaccustomed stiffness in his body hindering his movement.

"Like I said, you've been gone a long time," Malfoy replied. "Things have changed." He hesitated. "We've done away with the House system, for example." He met Snape's eyes. "We follow Potter, for another."

Snape had known it, of course. It had been obvious in Malfoy's every mannerism, in the Gryffindorish tendencies he had obviously developed. Somehow knowing it ahead of time did not prepare him for the shock.

"How could you?" he breathed. Potter, of all people! Potter, who was so much like his father. Potter, who never worked for anything and yet to whom came all of the rewards.

Malfoy had never learned legilimency—to Snape's knowledge—yet he seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. "Pott—Harry is not what we thought," the young man said quietly. "Not at all." Footsteps sounded from up the hall, and Malfoy glanced furtively at the door. "They asked me to be here with you when you woke up, to help you adjust, but now they're going to want to talk to you. Remember, Professor, things have changed. The students are loyal to Potter now. You could do few things worse than to insult him in front of them."

A knock sounded on the door.

"Come in," Malfoy called.

It swung open, and in peered a pair of emerald green eyes.

"Professor Snape." How strange. Had the boy's voice deepened in the three months of Snape's unconsciousness, or had he, like Malfoy, simply developed a more commanding aura? The rest of Potter's head appeared through the door, quickly followed by the rest of him. Was it Snape's imagination, or was the boy actually grinning? "I'm so glad to see you awake. Hermione will be ecstatic to know that the potion worked."

"Mr. Potter," Snape replied stonily, suddenly wishing that he was not sitting so weakly on his bed in front of the impertinent brat. "I demand that you give me control of the wards immediately."

The temperature of the room seemed to drop precipitously.

Potter blinked once, then glanced at Malfoy. "Draco, I thought you explained things to him."

"I did," Malfoy grumbled. "He can be pretty hard-headed at times, you know."

Potter groaned, then looked back at Snape. "Professor, I'm in charge now," he said slowly, as if he were explaining the situation to a two-year-old. "I didn't want it to be that way, but that was how it turned out. If the students want you in charge, then I will be happy to turn over the wards to you. As it is, you look about ready to pass out, and even if you weren't I doubt the students would be inclined to follow you. You'll hardly be surprised to hear that you are not the most popular person at this school."

"I remember that quite well, Potter," Snape growled through clenched teeth. "We all know who the most popular person is at this school, don't we?"

Potter tossed his head, a gesture of frustration that put the potions master in mind of the centaurs. "I can't talk to him," Potter told Malfoy. "And I don't have time for this. Voldemort's forces might try another surge at any minute, and I need to take another look at the fortifications. You work on him, show him around or something."

"I am not a _dog_ to be worked on, Potter," Snape hissed, struggling weakly out of his bed until he stood unsteadily on his own two feet before the boy. He took some satisfaction in being able to still look down at the student.

Potter held his ground, his burning eyes flashing with a stronger form of the defiance he had seen in Malfoy's. "No," he agreed intently. "Right now, you're worse than a dog. A dog would do as it was told, would be an improvement to the situation. If all you're going to do is whinge and fight with me after all of the effort we've put into reviving you, then you're not a man. You're just the coward my father always thought you to be." Then, without waiting for a response, Potter turned to go.

Snape was not sure where his wand had been placed, but suddenly it was in his hand, a curse forming on his lips as he pointed at the fool's back. A wand tip pressed against his head, and he froze.

"Don't," Malfoy whispered from beside him. Snape lowered his hand as he turned slowly to face him. Malfoy did not tremble as he held his wand on his former Head of House. "Hermione would kill me if I had to put you back in a coma."

Potter had paused at Malfoy's defense of him, and now spoke without turning around, as if he had known exactly what would happen.

"You'll take care of this, Draco?" he asked. For the first time, Snape noticed the proud, powerful stance the Gryffindor had taken. His body seemed to thrum with magic—the wards, Snape knew—and the boy was doing nothing more than standing there.

"You can trust me, Harry," Malfoy answered, and Snape knew that the world really had gone as topsy-turvy as he'd feared.

Potter nodded once, and was gone.

Malfoy lowered his wand from where he had pressed it to the side of his teacher's head. "Now, are you going to let me wheel you around—" with a flick of his wrist Malfoy conjured a wheelchair "—or are you going to argue until you pass out and make me wait until tomorrow to show you what we've done with the school?"

Snape considered arguing because he hated to acquiesce. Then a massive _BOOM_ shook the room, and he changed his mind. "You will show me what you have done to the school, _right now_." And he sat in the wheelchair as if it had been his idea all along.

Malfoy grinned, casually sauntering around to stand behind the chair. He spoke softly as he began pushing the older man out of the room. "Things really aren't quite as bad as they seem," he informed the professor as another massive quake shook the foundations of the castle. "We students have done a remarkable job looking after ourselves, actually. And I think the house elves have actually improved their cooking now that they work directly for Harry."

With those not-so-reassuring words echoing in his ears, Snape's fists clenched the handles of the wheelchair until his knuckles turned white, and he emerged from the cramped room in which he had awoken to face a new, unwelcome Hogwarts.


	5. Chapter 5

Auhor's note: Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed! Sorry with the problems with Just to clarify, this is definitely not a slash piece, and will probably not have any pairing for Harry at all. Enjoy, and please review.

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Terry Boot carefully held the vial over the steaming cauldron, swallowing as the fine grains of powder within slowly tilted toward the opening. A massive tremor shook the building, and it was only with a desperate jerk of his hand that he was able to keep the entire vial from falling straight in. 

"Merlin's wand!" he swore, stumbling back. The contents of the cauldron sloshed ominously but did not spill. "Somebody give me a hand here!" he shouted, glaring around at the others in the dungeon who were busily brewing their own potions. Why were they so stupid sometimes? Couldn't they see that his experimental potion was at a very vulnerable stage and needed immediate help?

The other students--two Hufflepuffs whose names he didn't know, a couple of Ravenclaws, and Hermione Granger--glanced at each other as if hoping someone else would volunteer. Before any of them moved, the door opened and Ginny Weasley entered, a tired expression on her pretty face.

"Ginny, give me a hand," Terry ordered, steadying himself as the building shook once again. "If the ashen sand isn't poured in exactly right in the next minute, the entire potion will go to waste."

Ginny's lips tightened at the command--rather fetchingly, Terry thought to himself--but she obeyed. "What do you want me to do?" she asked as she glanced from him to the cauldron and back again. He fancied that her eyes lingered on him for longer than strictly necessary--he knew because he was watching her the whole time.

"I want you to use that modified _petrificus_ Blaise came up with to steady the vial as I pour. I wish this step hadn't coincided with another attack, but I have to make do."

"I'm in a hurry; let's get this over with," Ginny said distractedly. She cast the spell effortlessly--he had often thought that with her intelligence and knack for spells she should have been a Ravenclaw--and with the added support he hurriedly but cautiously added the grains.

The potion bubbled and changed from blue to royal purple. He sagged back from the cauldron with a sigh.

"Good job," he told her. His grin faltered when she rolled her eyes.

"You're welcome," she told him, then turned and walked toward Hermione before he could respond. He watched closely as the two young women put their heads together. Hermione should have been watching her potion more closely--she had, after all, been given the task of minding the second batch of the antidote to the _somnus aeternus_ potion. He would have to have a word with Harry about her behavior, not that similar comments in the past had had any effect.

"How's the search going?" he heard Hermione inquire.

Ginny shrugged and sighed. "I can't tell you how much I wish Fred and George were here," she replied. "They had a real knack for this. I feel like I'm stumbling blindly, just hoping to find something."

Hermione frowned, then put a hand on the other girl's shoulder. "Ginny, I'm sure that's what Fred and George did too--they just had an extra pair of eyes and a mental connection that made it easier. You've done an incredible job so far, everyone says so."

Of course she had! Ginny always did an incredible job at everything. Terry sighed in pleasure as he watched her chew on her lip.

"Really?" she asked.

"Of course! That deluminator you found in Dumbledore's office has been indispensable in repelling the night attacks. And what about that secret passageway you found cutting the trip from the Astronomy Tower to the Great Hall in half? Think of how much time you've saved everyone that way!"

"I guess," Ginny said, sounding marginally less depressed. "Thanks Hermione."

Terry's potion made a _blurp_ sound, and he turned to it in horror to find that it was boiling too quickly. He quickly doused the flame, stirring the potion to even out the temperature. By the time he looked up, Ginny was gone, and Hermione was watching him with an irritatingly knowing look on her face. He turned back to his potion, determined not to let her see that she had gotten under her skin. So what if she was a brilliant witch? Did she have to go about flaunting her intelligence in front of everyone? He scowled, and stirred harder, losing himself in the process of brewing.

Losing himself, that was, until a silken voice hissed, "What, exactly, is _that_, Mr. Boot?"

He closed his eyes, searching in the depths of himself for the courage he had buried inside and not finding any.

"Terry has been working on an antidote to the potion used on Professor Dumbledore, Professor Snape," Hermione's prim voice saved him. When he opened his eyes she was standing right beside him, glaring at the sallow man who was watching them with unconcealed disdain. Snape was seated in a wheelchair looking even more vampiric than usual; Draco was standing behind the chair and had a mildly apologetic expression on his face.

"I do not believe I was speaking to you, Ms. Granger," Snape said after a beat of scornful silence.

Terry knew he should say something, but no professor had ever terrified him as much as Snape.

"I beg to differ," Hermione replied, her own voice icy cold. "I am in charge of brewing, and as long as Terry is a brewer he is under my watch. If you speak to him, you speak to me."

Snape glowered. "Very well, let's speak of you, Granger," he sneered. "What, exactly, are _you_ attempting to brew?"

She sniffed. "I am brewing the antidote to the _somnus aeternus_ potion. I'm fairly confident that I'm doing it right, since after all I am the one who brewed the potion that was used to wake _you_."

It wasn't entirely true. Hermione had been one of many students who had worked together to brew the potion--but for once in his life Terry didn't protest. It was worth allowing Hermione the boast to see the expression on Snape's face.

"For that matter," she went on, "you are getting in the way right now. These potions are all at very fragile states, and need careful minding. As you are clearly not fit--" whether she was speaking of physical or mental fitness was unclear "--to help, you may go." And she turned her back on him.

Snape gaped. Then he flushed with a terrible anger, and his hand went for his wand.

When he stopped moving, it was impossible to tell whether it was because he felt the wand at his back or nearly crossed his eyes watching Terry's wand which had suddenly positioned itself in front of his sizeable nose.

"They say that insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and hoping for different results," Draco said, and though he spoke softly the room was so silent that the words echoed. "So why don't you stop antagonizing the other students in the hope that they'll give in, Professor?"

Terry was too busy staring in astonishment at his own wand to pay much attention as Draco spoke. It certainly looked like his wand, and it was definitely his hand that was attached. But could he really have drawn on a teacher? Especially Snape, of all people? It seemed impossible to believe...

The silence that followed Draco's words was broken when the doors banged open and Harry burst into the room like a tornado.

"Is Ginny here?" he demanded, though it was clear that he saw that she was not.

"She left about twenty minutes ago," Hermione told him. "Why?"

He shook his head jerkily. "I need the Marauder's Map. I'm afraid there might be a rat in the castle. I've got Neville's group checking right now, but I really need that map."

"I think she was going to work on the locks in Flitwick's office again," Hermione said. "Try there."

"Thanks," Harry said, and swept back out as quickly as he had come.

Suddenly everyone seemed to realize how absurd they looked, standing still pointing their wands at the professor in a wheelchair. Both wands dropped.

"I think we should be going," Draco told Snape, beginning to wheel him out.

"Very well," Snape said. "I shall be back, however, Ms. Granger, to observe your work. I only hope it is as good as you think it is."

With that less-than-frightening threat, the teacher was gone.

"Thanks for standing up for me with Snape," Terry said, though the words sounded forced even to him.

"The git had it coming to him," Hermione replied with surprising ferocity. "How dare he--the nerve--to think he could come in here after 3 months of sleep and criticize _my_ people--" she started back to her potion, still muttering to herself.

Five minutes later Neville Longbottom entered the dungeon. "Hermione," he began, "have you seen--"

"Flitwick's office," she interrupted.

The clumsy boy nodded. "Thanks. We're trying, but there's a lot of ground to--"

A sudden, loud noise drew the attention of everyone in the room. Emily Morris, a fifth-year Ravenclaw, glared through a pair of thick glasses. "Will people stop _talking_?" she demanded. "I'm trying to get some work done!"

Neville blinked. "Sorry," he stammered, hurrying away.

Hermione covered her smile with her hand and coughed. "Well, let's all get back to work, shall we? Hopefully there won't be any more interruptions."

Terry turned back to the potion he had been working on for nearly three months, and saw in dismay that it had begun to bubble violently once again.

* * *

_Thirty minutes later_

"Oh, bollocks," Hermione whispered.

She stared at the putrid green mess that had moments before been a nearly-complete potion.

"What's wrong?" Terry asked, ready to criticize as always.

She gestured at her cauldron in helpless fury. He walked over, then stared himself.

"What did you do?" he breathed in amazement.

"Nothing!" she defended herself. "I did exactly what I was supposed to, exactly what I did the last time..." her voice trailed off as she stared at the pile leftover diced belladonna on the table next to her. Her fists clenched, and she drew a deep breath. "Dobby!" she shouted.

Dobby appeared in front of her, an excited light in his bulbous eyes. "Yes, Miss Hermione?" he asked eagerly. "How is Dobby being of service?"

"Dobby," Hermione said slowly, "who has been tending the belladonna?"

Dobby tilted his head. "We has been giving that job to Pansy Parkinson," he said, even his cheerful demeanor not quite disguising his dislike of the girl in question. "It is making her happy," he continued.

Hermione felt as though she had been doused by a bucket of cold water. "Dobby, how many other plants has she been tending?" she asked, dread in her voice.

"Just the belladonna, Miss Hermione," Dobby said. The house-elf hesitated. "May Dobby ask why you is wanting to know?"

Hermione smiled bitterly. "You'll find out soon enough, Dobby. For now, I want you to contain her. Make sure she doesn't touch anything. She's not to be trusted."

Dobby nodded vigorously, wide-eyed. "I is doing as you say," he said, and popped away.

Hermione pressed her hands against her eyes tiredly.

"So it's happened," Terry said quietly. She looked up to meet his eyes and saw that he looked nearly as weary as she felt.

"I need to go tell Harry," she told him.

"What do we do with this?" He gestured at the ruined potion.

"Throw it away and start again," she said tightly. "That's all we can do. Take care of it for me, will you?"

She didn't wait for his response before sweeping from the dungeon, her robes performing an impressive twirl that reminded her brewers of another potions brewer to whom she would shudder to be compared.

She hurried through the halls, fury raging through her, not just because of what Pansy had done, but because she hated to have to put more weight on Harry's already-burdened shoulders.

A pair of first years ran around the corner and almost bowled her over. They muttered and apology before continuing to frolic. "No running in the halls!" she shouted at them, and was ignored as she had been as a prefect.

She passed by several classrooms then ducked into one of the secret passageways that had been opened for public use. She arrived at the Great Hall several minutes later, blinking at the sight of some fifty students reclining on the benches and toasting each other with butterbeer.

"Hermione!" Ron shouted, grinning as he stood to greet her.

She couldn't help but smile in return. "We won, then?" she asked.

He lifted grabbed a goblet from Seamus and handed it to her, then clanked his own against it. He drank deeply before replying, and some of the liquid trickled out of the corner of his mouth down his shirt. "We sent You-Know-Who running away with his tail between his legs," the redhead crowed.

"I thought Harry was afraid Pettigrew had gotten in," she frowned.

Ron shrugged. "It's Harry's job to worry. It's my job to keep morale high—and everyone deserves a pat on the back for what they did today." He leaned close to whisper, "We got Avery, Hermione."

She went very still. "Got him?"

"Caught him with a reducto between the eyes," Ron confirmed. "He'll never hurt anyone again." Their eyes turned to where Dean Thomas had always used to sit at the Gryffindor table, before a stray curse from Avery had knocked him off a parapet to his death. They hadn't even been able to retrieve his body.

"That's good," Hermione said. "That's very good." She suddenly remembered her purpose there. "Where's Harry?"

"Last I saw him he was looking for Ginny," Ron said.

Hermione growled. "That boy…it's impossible to keep track of him. Look, if you see him, shoot me a patronus, will you?"

"Sure."

She cracked a smile again. "Go back to your celebration. Maybe I'll come down and join you when I'm done."

Ron smiled back, and she swept away again.

"Where would he be?" she muttered to herself, then directed her steps toward Dumbledore's office. "Telephone," she told the gargoyle, which jumped aside at the muggle term. She stepped on the moving staircase, relaxing as it carried her up. She knocked at the door then pushed it open without waiting. She stepped into the office. "Harry?"

He was sitting in one of the visitor's chairs in front of Dumbledore's desk, his head in his hands. Only when he jerked at the sound of his name did she realize he had been sleeping. He ran his hand through his hair and sprang to his feet.

"Sorry, Hermione," he said nervously, brushing at the creases in his robe. "I was just—"

"Don't apologize for being human, Harry," she scolded. "It's one of your more endearing qualities."

He grinned sheepishly. "Did you need something?"

"I'm afraid so," she said. "Pansy has been…causing trouble."

Trying to phrase things delicately rarely worked with Harry. His eyes narrowed. "Causing trouble how?"

"I suspect she's been tinkering with the potions ingredients," Hermione confessed. "The belladonna, specifically."

"You use belladonna in the antidote, don't you?" Harry asked. He would never be very good at potions, but he had tried his best to understand what she and her brewers were up to. Whatever anyone might say about Harry, Hermione would harm anyone who suggested he was a bad leader. "But why would she wait until now to…" His voice trailed off. "She was waiting for us to revive Professor Snape, wasn't she? She still thinks he's on her side." He sighed, then sank back into his chair tiredly. "How ruined is the antidote?"

She wished she could phrase it less severely. "Completely."

He groaned. "I'm sorry. I should have been watching her more closely. I can't believe I didn't see—"

"There you go again, blaming yourself for something beyond your control," she chided him. She sat in the chair next to him. "It's all right, Harry. It's a setback, I admit, but now that Professor Snape is awake, hopefully things will move more smoothly."

He groaned again. "Ugh. Don't talk to me about Snape. The greasy git—he's going to be trouble, Hermione."

"You put up with him for six years as a teacher, Harry, I'm sure you can put up with him for a few months as equals," she lectured.

"I suppose," he said dubiously.

"Did you find Pettigrew?" she asked, her fingers playing lightly against the armrests of her chair. It was strange sitting in front of Dumbledore's desk without Dumbledore sitting opposite them.

"He didn't get in. Not this time, at least."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "That's good, at least. Ron told me that Avery is dead."

"Yes," he agreed heavily, in a tone that left her with no doubt about who had killed the Death Eater. He saw the look she was giving him. "I don't want to talk about it, Hermione."

She nodded grudgingly. If she had her way, every person at this school would be in therapy. "What are you going to do about Pansy?"

He shook his head, then stood. "What I have to," he said. He glanced at his watch. "It's suppertime; we'll make the announcements in the Great Hall."

They walked to the Great Hall together in companionable silence. Nearly everyone was there when they arrived, although a few were still trickling in. Harry walked to the head of the hall and turned to face the gathered students and the few faculty who were awake. Hermione quietly seated herself beside Ron and carefully observed the occupants of the hall. Snape was conspicuously absent, probably resting in his quarters since she knew that he would still be recovering from the potion which had laid him low.

"First," Harry said, "I would like to tell you how proud I am of each and every one of you. Thanks to your combined effort, we successfully repelled Voldemort's attack today. What's more—Avery is dead." His words took a moment to sink in, and then a victorious cheer filled the large hall. Harry smiled calmly then gestured for them to quiet down. "We've also successfully revived Professor Snape today—I'm sure you'll see him around in the coming days as he re-familiarizes himself with the school. Please try to be patient with him."

"Like he was ever patient with us!" someone shouted from the former Hufflepuff table.

Harry grinned. "True enough. Just…try not to alienate him so much that he refuses to help us, at least." Everyone laughed. "Now, I'm afraid that something has happened—has been happening—that I can no longer ignore. Pansy Parkinson, Rufus Connelly, and Alan Grey, please stand."

The students shifted, murmuring in confusion. The three Slytherins reluctantly stood. They had been sitting side by side.

"I gave you a second chance," Harry said quietly. "I tried to act as I thought Dumbledore would, and I ignored the marks on your arms in the hope that the current situation would force you to rethink your allegiances. You betrayed that trust when you sabotaged our efforts." A general cry of outrage rose at that. Harry spoke over the angry students. "Pansy, you sprinkled ground bezoar on the belladonna to ruin our antidotes. Rufus, you damaged the fuses on our bombs and allowed Voldemort and his forces to get much closer than they would have otherwise. Alan, you tried to break into the infirmary while carrying poison." The hall was filled with nearly tangible fury, all directed at the three students. Hermione realized that what she had taken for companionable silence in their walk to the Great Hall had actually been Harry communing with Hogwarts' wards to find out who else could not be trusted. "You've proven that we can't trust you. As a result, you three will spend the remainder of the siege—however long it may last—locked in individual rooms in the unused tower. You will be stripped of your wands. The only people you will interact with will be house-elves. You will not be mistreated, but you will be given no chance to do further harm, and you will be given no privileges. Do you understand?"

"You're a fool, Potter," Pansy hissed. "The Dark Lord is going to break through your puny wards, and when he does—"

It was impossible to tell who cast the spell that silenced her, but she continued for several long moments with no sound coming from her mouth.

"When Voldemort breaks through the wards, he's going to find himself faced with three hundred well-trained students," Harry said, speaking as if to Pansy alone. He raised his voice, speaking with a confidence Hermione doubted he actually felt. "He will die. As will any who attack us. We are Hogwarts students. We will fight for what we believe in. We will fight for each other. If Voldemort is foolish enough to take us on, let him come."

He clapped his hands, and the three Death Eaters vanished.

They would not be seen again by human eyes for many days.


	6. Chapter 6

Note: It's been a very long time since I've updated this fic, and I make no guarantees that I'll be able to update faithfully from now on. Thanks to everyone who's still reading despite the very, very long gap between chapters! I'll try to have another up soon. This chapter is unbetaed.

* * *

Neville Longbottom walked among his dozen or so students, doing his best to look self-confident and trying not to stutter when he spoke. He hated being the center of any kind of attention and generally avoided it at all costs, but ever since the siege had begun he knew that the time for hiding was over. As long as he and everyone else were in deep trouble, he'd have to go outside his comfort zone and do his best to be helpful. Knowing that didn't make it any easier to endure having a group of people watching him, though.

He ignored the gap in the floor where Pansy and her cohort used to practice. He couldn't help but feel a vengeful pleasure at the thought of them locked in a tower. They'd never been vocally opposed to him teaching—at least, not once Harry had set them straight—but he'd always been able to feel their revulsion at the thought of learning anything from him. It had been apparent in the curve of their lips, the glint in their eyes.

"That's good concentration, Ellie, but remember that you're thinking about an outward transformation, not an inner one," he said to one of the fourth years who was sitting cross-legged on the floor with her eyes clenched shut as if strength of will alone could force the transformation.

She squinted one of her eyes open to peer at him, looking frustrated with herself. She'd made little progress in the months since she'd begun training to be an animagus, and was beginning to despair—never mind that it often took adult wizards much longer, and _they_ had professional training to help them along. Never mind that even Hermione hadn't made much progress beyond sprouting feathers all over her face.

"Can you show me how you do it again?" she asked plaintively, biting her lip. "I just…I don't seem to get it, Neville."

There was a clamor at that from most of the students. "Yeah, Neville, show us how it's done!"

"Yes, do!"

"You're so cool, Neville!"

Blushing heavily, he walked to the front of the classroom. He reached inside himself for his trigger—_don't let grandma find me_—and was about to transform when the doors burst open and Harry skidded inside, panting.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, Neville," he apologized, running a hand through his perpetually disheveled hair.

Neville grinned, the sight of his friend setting him at ease. Harry had always had confidence in him, and since the lockdown he felt closer to the other boy than ever. Harry trusted him. Harry relied on him to teach other students this important skill.

Doing his best Snape impression, Neville lifted his nose in the air and said, "Five points from Gryffindor for your appalling tardiness, Mr. Potter."

Someone snorted. Harry laughed, then mock-bowed in supplication. "Please, forgive me, Professor Longbottom," he groveled.

"Hmph," Neville sniffed. "Take your place, Mr. Potter."

Grinning, Harry set himself up at the very back, in one of the corners, where he could observe everything around him. Neville had noticed that Harry had a habit of doing that, not wanting to leave his back exposed, and also wanting to stay out of the other students' lines of sight.

"Now, where was I." Neville pretended to think. "Oh, right." _Don't let grandma find me_, he thought, and suddenly his perspective shifted and he was a mouse.

He had been incredibly self-conscious about his form for years. Especially after he learned that Peter Pettigrew, the now-infamous Gryffindor traitor, was a rat animagus. He'd been terrified that Harry and the others would turn on him, realizing that he was as worthless as some of his teachers always thought. He'd managed to hide the fact that he was an animagus until Harry had asked students to volunteer to teach others the skills they knew. How could he hide, when they were under siege? So he'd sucked up his courage and admitted the truth.

And the others, his friends, they'd loved it. Maybe Ron had shown an instant of concerned surprise, but it was gone almost as soon as it had come, and all he could think as they cheered him was, _I should have told them a long time ago_.

In fact, Neville had been an animagus since he was ten. It was his second bit of accidental magic—after he was pushed out of a window by one of his own family just to see whether his magic would kick in. He'd been trying to hide from his grandmother, who was about to go into one of her long spiels about his clumsiness, crouching in a cupboard and desperately hoping she wouldn't find him, when suddenly his entire world changed and she…well, couldn't find him.

The students oohed and aahed over his form, as usual, and he twitched his nose at them a few times before changing back.

"Neville, I'm curious," Hermione said, her brown eyes narrowed in her typical studious way. "Do you think about what your form is while you're changing, or just about the process of changing?"

Neville chewed his lip thoughtfully. "Both, I guess. I think about wanting to change into my form, but when I think the trigger phrase I'm just thinking about the process."

"I still haven't figured out my trigger phrase," Ellie sighed.

"Don't worry," he reassured her. "You will. Mine came to me when I was really stressed, but I also know people can uncover theirs with time. It's all very subjective." A moment of silence as everyone pondered that, then he clapped his hands and said, "Now, back to work! Let's get in another twenty minutes of real effort before lunch." He taught three times a week for an hour at a time, which was about all that his self-confidence could handle. The rest of his time he spent in the greenhouses or in dueling training. Or, more and more often, in battle.

There was only about five minutes to go when the doors burst open again and Severus Snape strode in, looking as sallow, evil, and unpleasant as ever. His intimidation was somewhat lessened by the fact that he was using a cane to walk—apparently he'd already shrugged off the wheelchair—but the sneer on his face was just as Neville remembered.

"What's this, then?" Snape hissed, glaring at the students, who all appeared to be on the verge of falling asleep but were actually meditating.

"A-ani-animagus t-training," Neville said, hating himself for his weakness as he cringed under Snape's glare.

"I see," the older man sneered, his tone conveying just how unlikely he thought that prospect was. "And who is training these students in _advanced transfiguration_? You, Longbottom?" His lip curled.

Neville looked at Hermione, who nodded encouragingly. "Y-yes," he said firmly, meeting the professor's obsidian eyes.

Snape laughed, a chilling laugh that made Neville cringed. "You must be joking. Longbottom, you are barely more than a squib, a disgrace to the name of wizardry. Your acceptance at this school in the first place was a mistake—"

"Not. Another. Word," Neville bit out through clenched teeth, a sudden wave of fury overpowering his intimidation. "I am a good teacher. I am an asset to our efforts. I will _not_ let you say otherwise."

"Why, you insolent brat," Snape snarled, his expression twisting, taking an angry step forwards. He was stopped by a low, menacing…growl?

Neville could have laughed at the way Snape suddenly froze before slowly turning to see what had made that noise. The dour man let out a strange choking noise. Neville stepped forward, curious, and strained around Snape to see what had the other wizard so surprised. And stared.

Sitting on its haunches in front of them was a very large Siberian tiger. He was handsome, with vivid stripes and intent green eyes. Staring at Snape, the tiger pulled its lips back to bare its sharp white teeth, a deep, rumbling growl creeping its way out of the animal's throat.

Snape swallowed visibly. "I presume that is a student," he said, pointing at the tiger. The tiger stood and took two slow steps forward. Snape took two quick steps back.

Neville forced himself not to grin. "As far as I know, professor, I'm the only one who's mastered the transformation. He might just be a stray."

Snape was clearly disbelieving. "A stray…tiger," he drawled.

"Yeah," Neville said. He stepped around Snape to crouch in front of the tiger, which regarded him calmly. Tentatively he reached forward to pet it on the head, and it nudged his hand, encouraging him. He could just make out the faint white lightning bolt on the tiger's forehead—invisible from even a few feet away. "Yes, definitely a stray," Neville said, innocently looking up from his crouch to meet Snape's angry but cautious eyes. "I think we'll call him…Zeus."

Snape made an inarticulate noise. "Well—carry on," he said, stepping swiftly around the tiger and hurrying away.

The students waited until the doors banged shut behind the professor to burst out laughing.

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed, doubled over from laughter, "Did you _see_ his face?"

"That was brilliant," Ellie breathed.

"Harry?" Neville said, staring at the tiger. It yawned once, staring back, and then suddenly where the tiger had been Harry was standing, an enormous grin on his face.

"Did I hear right?" Harry said, seeming more alive and animated than he had since assuming control of the wards. "I was a _tiger_?"

"You couldn't tell?" Neville asked.

Harry shrugged, his brilliant eyes still gleaming happily. "Well, I could tell that I was big," he said thoughtfully. "And strong. And also really, really wanting to eat some red meat."

"What was your trigger?" Ellie asked excitedly.

Harry coughed, looking away. "I'm not sure I should…"

"Oh, come on, Harry," Hermione said. "Maybe you'll inspire one of us." She paused, examining his face. "You're not embarrassed, are you?" she demanded.

"I'm going to kill him," Harry muttered.

Neville blinked. "Kill who?"

"No, that's my trigger phrase," Harry said. "I just—Snape kept saying those awful things, and I had just been thinking about trying to find my form, and I thought, _I'm going to kill him_, and then things were…very strange."

Neville snorted. He couldn't help it. Harry blinked. His lips curved. "Yeah, I guess it is pretty funny," he said, letting out a laugh.

"Funny? That was bloody awesome!" one of the fifth years exclaimed.

Harry looked at the gathered students. "Well, this just goes to prove Neville right," he said. "High stress situations will bring out the trigger." He paused dramatically. "Although I wouldn't recommend seeking out Snape in the hopes that it'll happen!"

More laughter. Neville enjoyed the moment, soaking in the good spirits around him. Things had been so hectic lately, it was important to enjoy the good times. "All right, off you go," he said. "It's lunch time."

He, Hermione, and Harry watched as the others grabbed their things and left the room.

"Thanks, Neville," a few of them called at him as they left.

"Awesome, Harry," others added.

"That really was amazing, Harry," Hermione said once the three of them were alone, putting her hand on Harry's arm. "Your dad would be proud."

Harry ducked his head, embarrassed. "He did it in his fifth year, Hermione."

She shook her head. "He wasn't fighting for his life at the same time," she reminded him, sounding annoyed by his unwillingness to acknowledge what he'd achieved. "And, Harry, you've only been working on this for half the time the rest of us have. I haven't got anywhere near the full transformation, and I've been working on it for three months. Just admit you did a good job, you stubborn git!"

He smiled. "You always know just the right thing to say," he said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice although it was clear he was being sincere. He sighed. "Well, I guess I don't need to come to this class any more."

Suddenly Neville realized why he seemed so down. Harry lived such a stressful life, and animagus practice was something he enjoyed, a way of taking a break. Now he didn't have that any more. "You're welcome to stay and help me teach the others," Neville said, but Harry was shaking his head.

"Thanks, Neville, but you've got everything under control. Don't worry—I'll stay busy." He put his hand on Neville's shoulder, half in encouragement, Neville thought, and half to support himself. He left.

Neville and Hermione exchanged a glance.

"He's fine," she said.

"Right."

They stared at the door through which their friend had just exited, lost in thought.

* * *

Of all the people in the castle, Dobby was probably the most delighted by Harry's new form. This became apparent when Harry entered the Great Hall for lunch about a half an hour after everyone else and was greeted by applause—both for completing the transformation, and for actually rendering Snape speechless, something previously believed to be impossible. Snape was absent as usual, probably taking the meal in his room rather than be surrounded by "idiot children."

Well, of course once everyone started applauding like that Harry had to transform—it wasn't showing off, not really, when it was meant to encourage everyone else—and as everyone laughed in delight at the sight of the enormous feline, Dobby's squeaky voice exclaimed, "Harry Potter is being a pussy cat!"

Harry had a quick meal, inviting Dobby to eat alongside him, although Dobby could never do something so improper. They had scheduled an examination of the Hogwarts farm for the day. Dobby bounced alongside Harry as the walked the long path to the farm—there were no shortcuts there, and it was deliberately inconvenient to get to, in the hopes of deterring students from finding it.

Dobby kept looking sidelong at Harry, who finally sighed and said, "What is it, Dobby?"

Dobby couldn't keep the grin off of his strange little face. "Dobby is loving kitty cats, Harry Potter sir. When Dobby was with his old family—" he grimaced at the thought of the Malfoys, though he'd come to tolerate Draco since the siege began "—young master is getting a kitten for a present. Young master is not wanting to care for the kitty cat, so Dobby is given responsibility. Dobby is loving that cat, Harry Potter sir."

Harry was reminded once again not to underestimate the house elf. "What did you name it?"

"Young master is calling the cat Mr. Fearsome," Dobby said earnestly, oblivious to the way Harry's lips twitched at the thought. His smile transformed into a queasy expression at Dobby's next words. "But I is calling it Harry the Magnificent!"

Harry coughed. "After me?"

"Of course!"

"Potter!"

Sighing, Harry looked up to see Snape hobbling toward him, beads of sweat forming on his forehead from the exertion of walking with the cane.

"Professor Snape," he greeted in as neutral a voice as possible. "How can I help you?"

"We need to talk," Snape announced.

Harry bobbed his head affably. "An excellent suggestion," he said. "As you can see, I'm rather busy at the moment, but if you'd like to make an appointment—"

"Busy!" Snape said, his eyes narrowed. "You're talking to a house elf, Potter."

Harry didn't look at Dobby to see how his small friend took the professor's disdain. "_Dobby_ had an appointment," he told the older man. "We are going to look over the Hogwarts farm. You're welcome to join us if you wish."

"Look at the farm another time," Snape ordered. "We should talk now."

Maybe when he was eleven that tone would have worked on him, but Harry had spent the past seven years ignoring orders in favor of doing what he thought was best—usually with good results. "I'm sorry, sir, but like I said, I have an appointment. If you'd like to talk now, as I said, you're welcome to walk with me."

Snape's eye twitched and he was silent for a long moment, no doubt holding in a violent outburst. Harry wondered whether the man had always been so out of control, or whether his coma had weakened him mentally.

"Very well," Snape snarled at last.

Harry began to walk again, deliberately slowing his pace so that Snape could more easily keep up.

"What do you want to talk about?" he asked as they passed into a series of dark corridors not far from the Slytherin dungeons.

To his surprise, Snape took another long moment to compose his reply. When he spoke, his tone was nearly civil. "Potter. I have taken the past few days to ascertain exactly what has been happening here in my absence, and I believe I now have a better understanding of the difficult situation that you and the other students have been faced with."

He seemed to expect a response, so Harry said, staring straight ahead, "I see."

"However," Snape went on, seeming not to have heard him, "you cannot deny certain difficulties with the way you have handled things. The house system, for one thing, has been in place for centuries, and for you to so cavalierly dismantle it out of some misguided desire for unity—"

"Misguided?" Harry interrupted, scowling. The torches around them flared for a moment, the wards responding to his spike of anger. "Listen, Snape, just because something has been in place for hundreds of years doesn't make it right. I'm pretty convinced at this point that the house system has been draining the life out of Hogwarts for ages, dividing the students rather than encouraging them to work together. I'd think that you, who have always been such an advocate for the Slytherins because of the prejudice against them, would be the first to agree."

Snape's eye twitched again. "Nevertheless, Potter, this is a drastic change that I am not convinced was a good idea. Additionally," he went on before Harry could argue again, "I hope it is very clear to you that having a student—not even a prefect—running the school simply cannot continue. You have done an adequate job thus far—" coming from Snape, Harry thought, that was high praise in deed, even if the man looked like it was painful to speak "—but it is time for you to let an adult take over."

Harry waited a moment to make sure Snape was done speaking. "I assume you mean yourself, sir?" he said.

Snape's nostrils flared. "Of course," he said, a hint of irritability in his tone.

Harry nodded. "And what would you do if I were to give you the wards and tell all the students to follow you?"

"I would resume classes," Snape said. This time Harry could hear the strain in his voice from staying civil. "Obviously it would be difficult to completely return to the traditional class system, but from what I've seen as you have it now many of the subjects are being completely neglected. In Transfiguration you don't seem to offer any classes other than animagus training, Potions seems nonexistent, and Charms is entirely focused on offense. This is a school, not a military institution, and the students here will eventually have to take their OWLs and NEWTs. It won't do for them to face those life-altering tests entirely unprepared."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "I understand what you're saying, professor, really I do. I've thought about that myself. Don't you see that it's not my—or your—decision to make, though? The students here decided that this was what they wanted. _They_ want to be trained to protect themselves, and as we're at war, it's hardly too much to ask. As for this being a school…right now it isn't. What kind of school can it be with nearly all of the teachers out of commission? I hate to sound cliché, professor, but as it is right now…the inmates are running the asylum. And they're doing a good job of it."

"Don't be absurd, Potter," Snape hissed. "Are you listening to yourself? Students making their own decisions about what to study? Inmates running an asylum? Don't you see what a recipe for disaster this is? The Dark Lord won't even have to attack—he can just sit back and watch you fools destroy yourselves!"

Harry's eyes blazed. "Do you think I haven't said all that to myself!" he snarled back. "When we were first getting started with this—when it looked like we might never figure out how to wake up you professors—when students started getting killed—do you think I didn't question my own abilities, the wisdom of our actions? But I was wrong then, and you're wrong now. I've seen what's happened to the students here, and it's mostly been for the good. Neville has never had as much confidence as he does now. Draco has become an asset—did you know the ferret is actually something of a spell crafter? I was worried the most about the younger students, but the first and second years seem to take it all as a wonderful game, and we keep them away from the real danger."

"Potter…" Snape shook his head. "Your arguments do not matter. You are not in charge any more. Surely you realized that that would be a result of waking a teacher from a coma. Now, give me the wards."

Harry laughed. "No."

"No?" Snape said in a low, dangerous tone.

"Do you have any idea how much strength it takes to hold the wards?" Harry asked, already knowing the answer. "Has Dumbledore ever spoken to you about them?"

"I know what I've read in _Hogwarts, A History_."

So someone other than Hermione had actually read that book. She'd be delighted to hear it, Harry thought.

"Have you ever wondered why Albus Dumbledore, indisputably the most powerful wizard in the world, has the position of headmaster at Hogwarts instead of some other, more prestigious job?"

"Albus loves children," Snape said in a tone that indicated his disapproval of such a sentiment.

One of Harry's shoulders moved in a shrug. "Yes, but that's not the reason. After Headmaster Dippet died, Dumbledore was the only person who had the power to hold the wards. They transferred to him automatically. If he had not been alive for some reason, the wards would have actually had to release some of their own power in order to be borne by someone less powerful. However, if he ever tried to transfer the wards to someone of insufficient power—they would crush that person. Do you understand?"

"Potter, are you claiming to have as much power as Albus Dumbledore? The absolute gall! The nerve! I'll have you know that compared to Dumbledore you are nothing but a—"

"Voldemort marked me as his equal," Harry said, stopping and forcing Snape to stop with him. Forcing his ex-professor to meet his gaze, he brushed the fringe away from the scar on his forehead. "Have you forgotten that, professor? His equal. The most powerful dark lord in history. Someone whom Albus Dumbledore has been unable to defeat."

Staring at the scar, Snape seemed to turn pale, as if he was finally beginning to understand.

Harry began to walk again. "I don't know if Voldemort gave me some of his powers on that night, or whether I've always been…this powerful." He hated speaking of himself as powerful. He rarely felt like he was, but with times as they were he was finding himself forced to face certain facts. "I can hold the wards. I am the only person other than Dumbledore who is capable of doing so. If I were to give them to you, they might kill you or drive you mad. And, I'll confess…I don't want to give them up. Not for selfish reasons. I've become accustomed to having them, and I know what to look for when Voldemort tries to find a way to steal them from me or when Pettigrew tries to find a weak spot to sneak in."

"Potter…this responsibility should not be yours." Snape's face was oddly neutral.

"The story of my life," Harry sighed. "Is there anything else you'd like to talk about?"

"Regardless of who is holding the wards, I refuse to be kept out of the governance of this school any longer. While Granger is an adequate potions student, she is not at the level where she should be supervising other students in brewing dangerous potions. I _will _be taking over in the laboratory immediately."

Harry's lips curved in a faint smile. Snape seemed to be expecting him to object. "Professor, why do you think we woke you up?"

Snape stopped walking but Harry did not. He could feel the professor staring after him. The smile remained on his face even as he and Dobby turned a corner and left earshot.

"Dobby is thinking that that went surprisingly well, Harry Potter," Dobby said.

"Me too, Dobby," Harry said. "Me too."

* * *

Nymphadora Tonks walked into the Great Hall and promptly tripped over a reclining Christmas tree.

"Bollocks!" she screeched as she landed hard on a pile of painfully sharp pine needles.

She half-expected to hear a reproachful, "Tonks, language!" but for once Hermione hadn't been around to hear her curse. In fact, she seemed to be surrounded by a gaggle of first years, all of whom were staring at her in astonishment.

"What?" she said, changing her hair from purple to bright orange just to see their eyes widen further.

Someone giggled.

She hadn't spent much time around the younger kids over the past three months, being more involved in the defense of the castle, and realized that this was the first time she'd catch a glimpse of the mysterious projects they were rumored to have been working on nearly since the siege began. Apparently the project involved decorating for Christmas, which was less than a month away, as she could see another group of first and second years trying to hang some mistletoe in thin air.

It was no wonder that they were failing dismally, as their supervisor appeared to be—egads—Trelawney. The old fraud was currently staring into the bottom of an empty glass—which Tonks would be her favorite pair of shoes had contained something considerably stronger than tea—and trying to read the future.

She hurried over to show the kids how the mistletoe-hanging spell was actually done, then snatched a sandwich off of one of the platters that was kept perpetually full for the busy defenders of the castle, then hurried back to the ramparts to rejoin part of her team. She was in charge of the stationary defense posts that had been set up at strategic points along the battlements, both outside and within the castle. There were certain stations that were perpetually manned, some by individuals with a good hiding spot that allowed them a clear line of sight to shoot their spells and some by groups who were prepared to fight en masse.

Generally the wards kept You Know Who and his minions away—that's what the wards were for, after all—but Tonks knew that He Who Shall Not Be Named was constantly trying to break through the wards and sometimes Harry couldn't hold up against his strength. When that happened the Death Eaters had an unfortunate habit of surging towards the castle, flinging spells wildly in the hopes of killing a few students and making for the front door. Tonks suspected, though she'd never asked Harry, that if any of the Death Eaters ever made it inside he'd be unable to put the lockdown wards back in place—but so far Harry had always managed to wrestle control back quickly enough to keep the Death Eaters from entering, often thanks to the defensive efforts of her teams.

There were aerial teams as well, comprised mostly of quidditch players, and there was an easy rivalry between them to see who could take down the most Death Eaters. There was even a scoreboard in the Great Hall—currently the Hogwarts Defenders were beating the Fierce Flyers by 43 Death Eaters to 37.

"Hey Tonks," Colin Creevey greeted her as she sidled up to the wall and peered out into the darkness where the Death Eaters were known to be congregating.

"No comment, Colin," she said.

"Aww, come on," he wheedled. "Just one comment?"

"Colin, you are worse than Rita Skeeter ever was," she exclaimed, exasperated. "Do you think I didn't read the last article you wrote after you interviewed me? _The war torn defender laid her lovely, multicolored cheek against the rough stone bulwark and sighed wearily, a single tear dripping from her lovely eye_," she mimicked. "Honestly!"

Her team snickered, though whether at her or Colin she wasn't sure.

"But Tonks," he said, "don't you think the newspaper is a good idea?"

The newspaper had been something the council had come up with fairly recently as another way of keeping morale high. It also made sense as a way of keeping all the different branches informed about what the others were doing. It was a short thing, usually only a page or two every other day, and Colin and two other students were in charge of it. Tonks admitted they were doing a good thing. That didn't mean she wanted to be giving _interviews_.

"Yes, it's a good idea," she sighed.

"And don't you want to help us?" Was his lower lip trembling? Dear Merlin, he was _not_ going to start crying.

"Can't you interview someone else for a change?"

"We have. It's your turn again. We've interviewed everyone except Harry. Do you want us to interview Harry instead?"

Her eyes narrowed at the threat. If there was something everyone knew about their fearless leader, it was that he hated attention and adulation.

"You wouldn't do that," she growled, making herself taller and her features more masculine and scary.

He blinked and moved away a bit at her new appearance, but didn't drop his manipulative, pleading expression. "I don't want to," he said. "We have to keep everyone updated, though, and if you're not going to do it, I guess Harry'll have to."

"Fine!" she snapped. "Just promise me you won't—get down!"

Lunging, she pushed him down just as a red spell passed over his head and crashed against the wall behind him, sending out a shower of gravel. Casting _sonorous_ on herself, she cried, "All hands to the battlements! Attack! Attack!"

On their best day, the Hogwarts students could fully man their stations in three minutes—they'd tested themselves over and over again to find out. Until everyone arrived the day to day defenders would have to hold their own. Fortunately, her people were very good at their jobs—they'd been trained by a fairly successful, if young and clumsy, auror, after all.

Tonks ducked behind the ramparts, took a deep breath to calm her racing heart, then conjured a mirror. She lifted it carefully to reflect the area beyond the rampart and gasped to see that the Death Eaters had apparently stolen their idea about having fighters on broomsticks. Fortunately, being good flyers wasn't really a Death Eater requirement and many of them seemed uncomfortable, giving the defenders and advantage. She knew, though, that they had to keep the enemy from landing on the ramparts until Harry could get the wards firmed up again.

"Twelve DE on brooms," she shouted. "Teams Alpha and Beta, you're on the flyers. Gamma and Delta, you're on the lookout for men on the ground. Someone go tell Crookshanks to mobilize the kneazles and keep an eye out for that rat!"

She used her mirror to peak again, then, taking another deep breath, twisted and rose to her knees, firing off three spells in quick succession at the mass of Death Eaters. The first two went harmlessly wide, but the third struck a masked man in the face and he let out a cry as his body began to spasm violently, sending his broom spiraling out of control.

"FIERCE FLYERS TO THE RESCUE!" Ron Weasley cried, and she looked up to see him leap off the ramparts on his broom and lead his twelve team members into the fray. Draco Malfoy did the same thing with his team from another part of the ramparts, the two teams angling in a V toward the attackers and sending off a barrage of spells.

As it always did in this situation, Tonks' heart stopped for a moment as a surge of terrible fear overpowered her. Fear that these students, her charges—many of them barely more than children—would come to harm. Two had died in the past three months, one on her team and one on Ron's, both struck down by Death Eater curses. Considering their situation, it was a good record…and yet it was not a good record, could never be, when those two should have had so many years ahead of them. She sent a quick prayer to a god she didn't believe in that no one would come to harm today, then she plunged back into the action.

The battle was fierce. She lost track of the spells she'd fired and couldn't even hear the spells that were being yelled all around her by the Hogwarts students. She'd seen several of the Flyers get hit, but none had fallen and none had returned to the safety of the castle, so she assumed nothing too terrible had happened. Two of the Death Eaters had been knocked off their brooms—one's brains were currently splattered on the stone below, but the other had managed to pick herself up and limp back to Voldemort's camp outside the wards.

Tonks could tell when Harry jerked the wards away from Voldemort because all of a sudden the Death Eaters were _pushed_ as if on a wave in the ocean away from Hogwarts, crying out and trying to keep their brooms under control as they were tossed hundreds of meters away. The Flyers remained in the air, keeping a watchful eye until it was clear that the wards were holding, then began making their way slowly back.

"Casualties!" Tonks barked, looking around herself and finding to her relief that none of the emergency healers were busy.

"Everyone's okay," Colin said, patting her on the arm. He had that look again, the one where he was about to cry, only this time it looked sincere. "Everyone's okay, Tonks," he said again. He paused, then smiled brilliantly. "I don't think I have to do that interview after all. I've got my own eye witness account! It'll be completely accurate, I promise."

"What's the headline gonna be?" Stewart, a member of Tonks' team, asked.

"The Mighty Tonks!" someone shouted.

"Tonks the Magnificent!"

"The Beast of the Battlements!"

Tonks turned her face green to hide her blush.


End file.
